Unplugged
by Write Sisters
Summary: Masen, rock star, had it all—until he didn't. Now, he's trying to rebuild his life, retrace his steps and, hopefully, do it all again, only right this time. Bella Swan had her heart broken, her confidence dashed, and her trust in love destroyed by Edward Cullen. It's taken her years to get over his betrayal, and now, having finally gotten her life together, he's back.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Announcement.**

Hello, everyone!

It feels like forever since I last posted here. I may have been MIA, but I haven't forgotten the support and encouragement I received from those who read Counsel. I promised I'd return when all the Counsel-related books have been published. Well, I'm thrilled to announce that the series is now complete, finally, and the last books, Angel, Destiny, and Lost have joined Counsel and Justice on the market.

 **Unplugged** presents a very different Edward to the prosecutor you met in Counsel. He may be different, but I hope, as the story progresses, you'll come to love him and empathize with him as much. **Also there is quite a bit of angst.  
**

Unplugged contains references to drug use—nothing graphic, nor do I go into great detail. I mention it only when necessary and as an indicator of the lifestyle enjoyed by some in the entertainment industry so that you, the reader, may better understand Edward's journey. I hate having to explain myself, and I hate giving spoilers. I think a story should unfold without extraneous comments from the author, but, given the forum, I thought it wise to issue a warning. If the subject matter offends you, do not read Unplugged. If you are not a fan of angst, do not read Unplugged, and please if any part of the story outrages or offends you, please stop reading. There are thousands upon thousands of other great stories on this site to entertain you.

To those who've chosen to take this journey with me, I hope you enjoy!

 **Prologue and Chapter One follows. At this stage, I plan on updating fortnightly.**


	2. Prologue

**Twilight characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All other characters, story and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged - Prologue**

More than half-drunk, Masen apathetically surveyed the room. "Who the fuck are these people," he muttered though many of the faces were familiar. If pushed, he could probably put a name to one or two, he just couldn't be bothered. The women, scantily dressed and desperate-looking, even those hanging off some man, watched him, waiting—pleading almost—for the smallest sign of encouragement. Without it, they daren't approach because Masen's temper, his biting sarcasm, had become a thing of legend. And the men? If the women were there for the chance of boasting rights to screwing a rock star, the men were hangers-on, wanting to rub shoulders with fame, get a taste of the lifestyle. They were there for the booze, the chance of drugs, and, naturally, for any leftovers after the band had their pick of the women.

There had been a time Masen basked in the adulation, the envy, the sycophancy—when he'd thrown himself headlong into the debauchery of it all. He had, at times, fucked in the open like James was doing right then. Whether sober enough to be aware of his audience or not, the fact is, James didn't give a damn, just like Masen hadn't in the past. He is, after all, _Masen_ , and, as James would say, he and Eclipse own the fucking world.

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 **Thank you for reading.**


	3. Chapter One

**Twilight characters are the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All other characters, story and plotlines belong FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged - Chapter One**

"What's this mean?" the blonde asked coyly, tracing the tattoo on his chest.

"None of your business," Masen snapped, "and don't fucking touch me unless I tell you to!" His buzz fading, he already regretted bringing her to his room. He'd thought her pretty, with her long hair and blue eyes, but it had been her generous mouth and thoughts of the pleasure it could bring that had made him choose her over the dozens vying for his attention. But once he'd fulfilled those desires, her appeal had faded, and he was eager to be rid of her.

Early in his career, he'd been flattered by the adoration, taken aback—shocked even—by the blatant sexual overtures. He thought many of his female fans, the women who jostled, bribed and charmed their way backstage, attractive. Hell, some were drop-dead gorgeous, and each and every one of them made it abundantly clear why they were there. So Masen indulged liberally and often. Why not, he rationalized; he's a man, after all—who _wouldn_ 't take advantage of so much exposed flesh and unbridled lust?

But, more and more, he found himself repulsed by the women's desperation, the lengths they'd go to, and the indignities they were prepared to endure to achieve their goal. The woman beside him was no exception. With the deed done, twice to be exact, he'd become irritated by her prattle and her attempts to turn their encounter, which to him had been nothing more than scratching an itch, into something more. Her mention of his tattoo, though, _that_ particular symbol, and its unwelcome reminder of how monumentally he'd fucked up, made him want to smash things, trash the place—but he wasn't stoned or drunk enough to not consider the consequences. Victoria would go ape-shit if she had to deal with the aftermath again—although, to be fair, it's usually James and not him who goes that far.

"On your knees," he told Chrissie, Chloe, whatever the hell her name is instead.

 _Cassie_ scampered to do his bidding as he reached for a condom. He'd only just lifted the foil package when the door was flung open. It hit the wall with an ear-splitting crash, and Victoria stormed in. She threw Masen a murderous glare before she dragged Cassie off the bed and across the floor, the woman trying desperately to free her hair from Victoria's clutches. Victoria's grip remained vicelike; she ignored Cassie's screeching and, with a concerted effort, shoved her into the corridor. Before the blonde could recover, she gathered whatever female clothing she could lay her hands on and hurled it into her face. " _Slut_ ," Victoria yelled and slammed the door shut.

She turned on Masen then, but he spoke before her. "Must you spoil everything?" he asked contemptuously.

"You've sunk to an all-time low, Masen. God knows what I saw in you."

"A meal ticket, baby; that's what you saw—what you _still_ see." He sat up against the headboard, not bothering to cover himself. "Oh, and the best sex you ever had—and let's not forget the chance to get your face in the papers," he said like the bastard he'd become.

"What's happened to you? You've turned into a pig— a drunk, junkie pig; no wonder you can't hold onto relationships" she retaliated, unwittingly hitting on a raw, a very raw, nerve.

" _I_ dumped those women because they were soulless and fame-hungry; like _you_ ," he snapped, pushing back unwanted thoughts of the relationships he severed—the ones that mattered—the _one_ that meant the most—not the interludes with vacuous models and actresses. "And you and I are not in a relationship; we fuck— occasionally—when no one else takes my fancy."

Victoria recoiled but quickly recovered; her reputation for being a bitch, well earned. "Well, you won't be famous for much longer if you don't pull your head out of your ass and clean yourself up!" She waved a disparaging arm around his hotel room. Masen didn't bother looking; he knew what he'd see—discarded clothes, empty bottles littering practically every surface. Still glaring at him, Victoria moved to the coffee table, swept up the scattered pills and left. Masen heard the toilet flush, and, for just a fleeting moment, he experienced shame, that old, familiar feeling of inadequacy. He shrugged it off. He's no longer that person; he's Masen, he reminded himself.

"And don't expect me to keep covering for you. I'm through," Victoria sneered when she returned.

"I don't need you. My music speaks for itself," Masen shot back.

"You're kidding right—after the last album sales?"

"And who the fuck's fault is that? _Yours_ —for pushing me into that shit," he yelled.

"It's what the public wants, Masen. It's what _sells_!"

"Then why the fuck did you sign me? I've _never_ been interested in that kind of music. You knew that."

"I didn't sign you for the music you were making; I wanted you because of your _potential_. You're a brilliant songwriter and musician, you have the looks, and you ooze sex. I knew I could make you big."

"What about what _I_ wanted? You screwed me over. If I'd known you wanted a front man for a fucking boy band, I would never have signed!"

"Don't blame me for your gullibility. You should have asked the right questions; your _lawyer_ should have," Victoria said, smug, her eyes gloating.

"The lawyer you recommended? Just another slick trick, right?"

"I don't see why you're complaining; look at the success you've had," she argued, her tone conciliatory. "The album failed because you're not focused. Look at yourself, Masen; how low you've sunk! You partied before, sure, but you were never a falling-down drunk. You didn't get stoned all the time, and you _certainly_ didn't pop pills with groupies. What the fuck did you think you were doing, sharing drugs with that slut? You don't even know where the stuff came from—and thank God you still have the smarts to use condoms. I can understand James not giving a shit; he doesn't have the talent you do."

"That was my shit you flushed away, and I know exactly where it comes from; _you_ fucking know. And, again, let me remind you that you teamed me with James. You insisted that we collaborate despite our different styles. Has it occurred to you that the album failed because of _that_? It's hard to produce good music when you don't believe in what you're doing—when you don't _feel_ it! I still don't get why you forced me into it." A moment of betrayal crossed his face. His expression, when she replied, reverted to derisive anger.

"It's simple, Masen. Arrius needed a band, and with your success, who better to front the group?"

"You truly are a toxic bitch. A&R my ass! You're not developing _my_ career; you're managing _yours_ —at my expense."

"You'd still be playing shitty pubs if it weren't for me."

"I don't need you. I'm a musician, not a performing monkey, which is what you want—and I was playing the music I want!"

"Look…most band members who go solo fail, but lots like Clapton, Sting, Ritchie, Timberlake made it. They're amazing musicians, and so are you. You can go out on your own again— _eventually_ —but, for now, trust me; this is best. We make a good team, Masen; at least, we did until you went off the rails. We could be good again, babe," she cajoled. She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his thigh.

Masen batted her hand away. "Victoria, don't patronize me, and you and I are _not_ a team. We never were, and we never will be. And in case you haven't noticed; I only fuck you when I'm drunk—and only when there's no one better around!"

She stood; her attitude arctic, and the two continued to verbally eviscerate each other. Whatever good feelings existed between them, if any, was lost that night, and Victoria, true to her word, withdrew her support. She did nothing to intervene or relieve the tension developing between Masen and senior Arrius executives, who, because of continuing weak sales, were no longer willing to tolerate what they termed the band's 'undesirable habits'. A message, Victoria gleefully relayed in the second last week of their tour after a paparazzi member, again, caught and filmed James snorting coke.

Ironic that those same executives, once they realized that Eclipse's, more specifically, Masen's fans, embraced the bad boy label, tacitly encouraged the conduct. Drunken public behavior, leaked stories about sex in dressing rooms, and rumored drug taking would, in normal circumstances, have met with widespread disapproval. But the entertainment world is far from conventional, and, in the music industry, especially it seems, outrageous conduct is tolerated—celebrated even. Atrocious behavior often enhances rather that detracts from fans' adulation as history would attest. Record executives and artists' managers—those, who could, potentially, curb the excesses—more often than not turn a blind eye. After all, attention drives their business, and whatever keeps their clients in the spotlight, as long as it doesn't negatively impact income, is encouraged. Bad behavior is deemed good business.

Victoria had been right when accusing him of changing. The twenty-year-old she'd discovered seven years ago, loved getting buzzed but drank beer, not hard liquor. He enjoyed a joint, but was, by no means, hooked, and he didn't do hard drugs. Speed, coke, ecstasy, molly—you name it, and chances are they were available in the places he'd frequented and performed at. Edward, as he'd then been known, could not be tempted. Hard drugs hand not been his thing. "Music's my high," he'd said.

He'd been thrilled when, at one of his gigs, Victoria introduced herself as an A&R exec from Arrius Records, Los Angeles. She'd professed to love his music and invited him to join her for a drink. He did, listening with rapt attention as Victoria spoke about her job finding and recruiting new talent and then overseeing their development. A&R, she said when asked, stands for Artist Development and Repertoire and explained that she assists in song selections, helps to choose a producer, a recording studio. Essentially, A&R execs are the link between artists and other departments within a record company. "You'll come to depend on me," Victoria told him and smiled in a way that could only be described as seductive.

"You haven't signed me," Edward joked.

"Oh, I will," she said and asked if he had any demo CDs. Edward, of course, did. What hopeful musician doesn't travel with at least one?

"Tell me about you," she'd invited then questioned him about his family and job.

"I'm pre-med at Penn."

"So… medicine not music? What a waste of talent." Victoria pouted her red lips in mock dismay.

"Well, music's my passion, but my father thinks it's a waste of time." Edward couldn't disguise his bitterness. "He's a cardiothoracic surgeon with a God complex," he said as if that explained everything.

"Has he heard your music? Heard you perform live?"

"He has, but never willingly, and he's never seen me perform." Edward's tone, his body language, made it clear he didn't want to pursue the subject. Victoria smiled sympathetically and moved on.

"What about girlfriends? Someone like you must have your pick of women."

"I have a girlfriend," Edward said, smiling.

"She must be special to make you look like that."

"She _is_." His eyes softened, but, again, he refused to elaborate.

"Girlfriends and boyfriends often get in the way of new artists' success. I've seen many talented hopefuls careers stalling, even failing, because their partners couldn't understand or cope with what it takes to make it in the music business. _Or_ , because of jealousy."

"That wouldn't happen with me."

"So your girlfriend's not jealous—won't resent the amount of time you'd have to spend apart?"

"She understands me better than anyone and has always supported me. I don't see that changing. She has her own ambitions, and you keep talking as if I'm a professional musician; I'm not. I'm a med student who makes music and performs in my spare time."

"For _now_ ," Victoria said, gracing him with another sultry smile. "Anyway, I should go; do you have that demo?"

Edward handed over the CD, gave her his cell number when she asked, and they said goodbye. He didn't expect to hear from her again but hoped. A month later, he'd forced himself to stop thinking about it when Victoria rang to ask for an email address. She wanted to send him a deal memo, a non-binding agreement to establish a business relationship between him and Arrius Records.

"Shit! I'm excited, Victoria; but ... hell…" he broke off, his euphoria dashed by the thought of his family's—more notably, Carlisle's— response to him dropping out of college.

"Chances like this don't come along often," Victoria said in the pause that followed. "Do you _know_ how many musicians dream of something like this happening to them? I'm considering a couple of other guys, and I need to make a decision, so you need to seriously think about my offer. I'd like you to travel to LA next week to meet with Mitch Walker, our A &R VP and perhaps even Aro."

Edward's heart pounded in his chest. He'd read about Aro Larsen, a maverick record exec, who, twenty years ago, following a disagreement with his boss, started his own business, Arrius Records. He stole some of his former company's biggest names right from under their noses and, with that coup under his belt, turned his attentions to other labels' choicest clients.

"I'm not sure..." Edward answered Victoria, tamping down his excitement.

"For fuck's sake, Edward, I'm not asking you to sign anything binding. We'll only formalize a contract when our lawyers and _your_ lawyers have negotiated and agreed terms. All I'm asking— _if_ you're interested and serious about your music like you said— is that you meet with my boss and a couple of producers. I'm even offering to pay for your trip. What's there to lose?"

"Give me a couple of days." Edward hung up, cringing at the thought of the shit storm about to erupt at home.

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 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Please note: Lost will be removed from this site at the end of February. I haven't received reviews or comments for ages, and I think it's safe to conclude that anyone who may be interested has read it by now. The published version is and will remain available to read on my website. The on-sale publication is an option for those who prefer to have their own copy on Kindle.**

 **Take care, everyone; until next time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Twilight Characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original story, plotlines, and characters belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged - Chapter Two**

"You can't possibly be serious!" Carlisle yelled, his face apoplectic.

"Carlisle…" his wife intervened, but he interrupted.

"Stay out of this, Esme," he said, his expression softening at her beseeching look.

"You are _not_ throwing away a medical career to be a goddamned musician!" He glared at his son.

"Who said anything about throwing away a career? I just want to see what they're offering!" Edward scowled in return. The striking resemblance between the two had never been more evident than then. Carlisle Cullen and his son have the same chiseled jawline; their noses, straight, are almost identical, as are their thick, well-defined eyebrows. They're both tall and strong. They also share many mannerisms. Right then, their matching, clenched jaws, flared nostrils, the way their brows furrowed into an almost identical V, the way their bodies strained in agitation, carbon copies of each other, could, if not for the combustible tension in the air, have been viewed as amusing.

"I don't care whether it's just to _see_ or _talk_ ; you're not flying to Los Angeles. No son of mine is going to perform onstage like—"

"Like who?" Edward jumped up, his chair scraping, probably marking Esme's treasured parquetry floor. "My _mother_?"

"Now you're being ridiculous, Son. I didn't—"

" I know what you wanted to say—what you think about me, my music…my mother. Fuck you!" Edward spat, years of pent-up hurt and resentment spilling over, finally, robbing him of respect. "And don't call me son; you've never thought of me that way. All I've ever been is an embarrassment and a burden."

"Don't you dare curse at me!" Carlisle stood too.

"Carlisle—" Esme warned, her voice no longer pleading. She got up to place a hand on Edward's arm. "I'm sure your Dad didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, he did. I'm sorry, Es," he said, gently removing her hand," but I can't take this anymore. I apologize for my language and for spoiling dinner." Then, glancing at his sister, Alice's, ashen, tear-stained face, mouthed, "Sorry," before he left.

"If you go to LA, don't bother coming back!" Carlisle called after his retreating figure. Edward turned, green eyes blazing contempt.

"Well, it won't be the first time you've turned your back on me, will it? You won't hear from me again—and don't worry, I'm too old now for social services to force me on you!" he retaliated and walked out. In his wake, he heard Esme, no doubt, trying to intercede the way she always does. Her efforts, though, have, largely, been in vain because Carlisle and Edward's relationship had, from the start, been fraught with hurt and misunderstanding.

For thirteen years, Edward knew only one parent, his mother, Elizabeth. They lived in a tiny, fourth-floor apartment in an area of New York termed 'rough'. There were just too many bored, aimless young men, involved in crime, petty or otherwise, too many absent or uncaring parents— and those who were present, were too busy eking out a living to care for and discipline their kids the way they should or would have if they could. One of Elizabeth's greatest concerns centered around how a teenage Edward would fare in that environment. She hoped to leave the area before he reached that stage.

To realize her dream of a better life, Elizabeth worked at several jobs— in a deli, Monday through Friday, from eight in the morning to two in the afternoon, and then, on Friday and Saturday nights, performed at a supper club in Greenwich Village. She also taught the piano from three to four each weekday—not that she earned much from that venture. People in the neighborhood couldn't afford extravagances like music lessons, and Elizabeth did it mostly as favors to mothers, who, like her, worked and couldn't pay for childcare. The lessons, for a short time at least, kept those kids off the streets where trouble lurked around every corner. The arrangement suited Elizabeth too because, mostly, they repaid her by minding Edward on Friday and Saturday nights.

When he was older, about seven or so, Edward nagged his mother to accompany her to the club. "I'll be good," he pleaded, and Elizabeth, more often than not, relented because she hated leaving him behind. He readily obeyed with her directive to sleep in the afternoon if he wanted to go. Edward lived for those times. For him, being at the club was one of the most exciting experiences of his young life. He'd tinkered at the piano before he could walk, and by the age of four, given his interest and ability, Elizabeth taught him tunes based on sound and repetition. Formal lessons started a year later, and by seven, Edward had been proficient, more accomplished than many adults who'd trained for the same time.

His extraordinary gift had been apparent even then, and his love of and insatiable interest in anything music-related, undeniable. He'd been especially entranced by the blues and jazz played at the clubs where Elizabeth performed. He sat in the manager's office, in view of the stage, rapt, as he listened to her play the piano and sing songs made famous by some of the greatest female artists. He loved listening to the other performers too, particularly meeting and interacting with them. They admired his looks and fussed over him, especially when discovering his talent and interest in their art. Those people, musicians and club employees alike, were the closest he and Elizabeth had to family.

One man, a singer-guitarist took a special interest in Edward. Nearing sixty, patient, gentle, and affectionate, for four years, Lou Carter was a father figure to Edward—the closest, until then, he'd had to a male role model. Lou took him to ball games, the movies, and together, they explored the city's renowned jazz areas. Lou discussed music with Edward as if he were an adult. He taught him to play guitar. Four years after their first meeting, Lou died, suddenly, of a heart attack, devastating his family, friends, and fans—none more than Edward. At his funeral, the, then, eleven-year-old performed a moving acoustic guitar rendition of Amazing Grace, the first song his friend had taught him. After the service, when handing back Lou's beloved Martin D-35, his daughter, Millie, stopped Edward. "He would've wanted you to have it," she said. The Martin, to this day, remains one of Edward's most prized possessions.

Edward, undoubtedly, inherited his musical ability from Elizabeth. She, on the other hand, professed ignorance about the origins of her talent. No one in her family, that she could remember, had been especially musical, she once told Edward. "My dad liked it, but sport was more his thing. Mom, though, she loved music. She was always listening and singing along to something," she said about his grandparents, who'd both died in a car accident years before his birth. Just eighteen at the time, Elizabeth's modest inheritance, supplemented by a student grant and a part-time job, allowed her to pursue her dream of becoming a singer-songwriter. A talented pianist and an even more gifted singer, Elizabeth's voice could best be described as personal— _intimate_. No matter how big or small her audience, each listener felt as if she were singing just to and for him or her.

Two years into her studies Elizabeth's aspirations had been dashed when she met a newly graduated doctor, celebrating his achievement with friends. The two, instantly attracted to each other, spent a passionate weekend together, most of it in his hotel room. Despite promises to the contrary, Elizabeth didn't hear from him again. All he'd left her with was a name.

Six weeks later, Elizabeth discovered she was pregnant. She called every hospital in New York State, trying to trace Doctor Carlisle Cullen, but drew a blank. For some, unknown reason, she didn't broaden her search. Instead, Elizabeth devoted herself to being a mother—the best she could be. To preserve what little money she had, she dropped out of college, found a job serving behind the counter, sometimes waitressing, at a local deli. Life, for Elizabeth, already a struggle after her parents' death, became tougher with Edward's arrival, but she loved him—before he was born, before, even, knowing his gender. Everything she did, from the moment she knew of his existence, she did with him in mind. What she couldn't provide in material terms, she made up for in love. The opportunity to perform at the club came after Edward's birth when a backing vocalist, a regular at the deli, mentioned an opening for a singer. And, although she worked harder than ever, juggling day and night jobs, Elizabeth finally had the opportunity to have at least _some_ of her dream realized.

Edward _did_ leave the neighborhood—ten days before his thirteenth birthday, but not in the way his mother had planned. In a tragic twist of fate, Elizabeth, along with the driver of the car, a waiter at the club who'd offered her a lift home, was killed in a head-on collision. Edward was supposed to accompany her that night, but Elizabeth, worried about a cold he'd caught, refused, leaving him with Maria, her friend who lived across the hall. That's where Edward had been, asleep, in the early hours of the morning when police arrived with news of his mother's death.

Only days after Elizabeth's funeral, in the absence of family, Edward was made a ward of the court, and he, accompanied by a social worker, left Maria and everything familiar behind. Edward spent ten miserable months in three different foster homes before he learned that authorities, using information gained from his birth certificate, had traced his father, Doctor Carlisle Cullen and that he'd be moving to Philadelphia to live with him and his family. Edward didn't know anything about his father except his first name and what his mother had told him—that they'd met, fell in love, and that his father left town before knowing about him. Elizabeth laid no blame at his door, and Edward hadn't thought about him, except in the abstract.

Elizabeth made Edward feel safe. With her, he hadn't lacked love or attention. He'd never felt threatened, had never had reason to guard the food on his plate until, grieving and traumatized by his loss, he found himself in a foster home with six other children. He'd never had a reason to fight— _really_ fight—to defend himself or protect his possessions until he moved into that place, where he was forced to share a room with two older boys, intent on making his life even more hellish than it already was. Dylan, his guardians' son, seventeen, and Mateo, the oldest of their foster kids, sixteen, preyed on the others and secured their silence with threats of violence. They pilfered the others' food and their personal belongings. The woman, Mrs. Williams, and her husband, who worked shifts, were kind but too frazzled to notice the intimidation happening right under their noses. Edward, new, with his good looks and his precious Martin, was targeted from the moment he arrived.

He suffered their taunts of 'pretty boy' in silence; he even let them get away with stealing food off his plate. Edward finally snapped when Mateo grabbed his precious guitar and carelessly plucked at the strings. The ensuing scuffle cost Mateo a split lip and Dylan a torn shirt. Edward bore the brunt of the encounter. He sustained a bleeding nose, bruised cheekbone, and a dislocated shoulder, caused by Dylan viciously twisting his arm behind his back before one of the other kids, braving almost certain retaliation, alerted Mrs. Williams to the situation.

Edward was relocated, twice, before his father came for him, but he'd learned from that first experience. While having his injuries tended, he decided that, in future, no matter how many bullies there were, he'd stick up for himself from the outset, and he did. Even a glance he deemed unwarranted was met with a ferocious scowl. Luckily for him, in his second foster home, he'd been the only boy, and in the third and final, there'd been only one, a year older, and he, confronted by Edward's hostile attitude, displayed no bullying tendencies. Edward's time in foster care changed him. The formerly gregarious and trusting boy turned into a recluse, suspicious of almost everyone. While outwardly he may have appeared settled, inwardly, he grieved the loss of his mother, and also Lou. He had no one he could talk to, no one familiar, no one who knew Elizabeth or Lou—who knew _him_. The welfare system addressed his basic needs and let his emotional wellbeing fall by the wayside.

Perhaps understaffing was to blame, perhaps too many cases deemed more urgent took precedence; who knows what caused that oversight or the delay in locating Carlisle Cullen? Whatever; the fact is that, during those unhappy months, Edward's misery, his sense of abandonment and grief festered into anger and resentment. He needed an outlet for his emotions. Who better to direct his bitterness at than a long-absent father?

Carlisle, for his part, had been shocked when learning he had a son of nearly fourteen. "Are you sure you've contacted the right person?" he asked the woman on the other end of the line. "I'm really sorry this child's lost his mother, but there must be several doctors named Cullen—"

"There are four to be exact, Sir, but only one Doctor _Carlisle_ Cullen," she replied, sounding less than impressed.

"Did you know Elizabeth Masen?" she asked. Of course, he did–once his memory of that time in New York had been jogged. He recalled the stunning woman clearly. And they _had_ had sex, but he'd been very careful to use a condom. Well, he thought he had; he was, after all, a doctor, well versed in the dangers of unprotected sex with someone he'd just met. Not that he'd thought Elizabeth slept around. Nevertheless, he _had_ been responsible.

"This child may not be mine. If Elizabeth was that certain, why wouldn't she have contacted me herself?"

"I have no idea, Doctor Cullen. We, of course, expect to perform the necessary tests to confirm that you are Edward's father, and we'd like you to cooperate. There are avenues we can pursue if you don't."

Carlisle, unused to being threatened, responded tersely. "Have no doubt that I'll be checking my legal position, Ms. Morris. I'll get back to you."

"Thank you, Doctor Cullen. I look forward to your call and would appreciate it being sooner rather than later. Edward's been in foster care for nearly a year, and I'd like to see him settled."

"Well, you can hardly blame me for your lack of productivity," he snapped and hung up before the woman could respond. He sat, still as a statue, for long moments, trying to calm his brain. Carlisle hadn't deliberately been obstructionist, nor had he tried to avoid responsibility, but he'd just, after an already long day, performed a complicated surgical ventricular restoration. Tired, mentally and physically, learning about a child he may or may not have fathered could not have come at a worse time. He needed time to process the shocking information, but he still had three hours of doing rounds and catching up on paperwork before he could leave. And then, once home, instead of relaxing as he'd hoped, he had to tell his wife that their lives might, irretrievably, be changed.

The news stunned Esme, naturally, but she dealt with the bombshell better than he had. "It's not as if you cheated on me, Carlisle," she reassured him when he apologized for the third time. "What matters now is that child. Goodness only knows what he's suffered since his mother died."

"I know; I just want you to think about the changes his living here will cause. We need to consider Alice, especially," he cautioned.

"Alice will cope; in fact, I'm pretty sure she'll love having an older brother. We'll have to juggle our schedules better until they've settled in together—and we have Diane, don't forget."

Carlisle frowned. "What?" Esme asked.

"He may not be mine," Carlisle said—again—he'd repeated the phrase as often, if not more than his apology.

"Is that what you're hoping?" Esme's voice expressed her displeasure.

"No! Well, yes...I suppose. I'm worried about the disruption to our lives."

"Well, I hope you're not concerned about what the the stuffed shirts and silver tails will think or say!"

"I don't care about the medical establishment, Esme, but I _am_ worried about taking in an adolescent boy. God, I know nothing about kids; I'd be a terrible father to Alice if it weren't for you!"

"You're not terrible; Alice adores you. You just need to ease up, Carlisle; you're far too consumed with work."

"I have to be, Esme!" he exclaimed, his impatience rising.

"Yes, Darling, I know, but you don't have to treat everyone like you do your interns. Besides, we coped with Alice's arrival, and our careers were at a much more critical stage then. We'll do so again when Edward joins us."

Carlisle, tired and wanting to sleep on the matter, chose to ignore Esme's use of _when_ rather than _if._ "You're right; of course we'll cope. How could I not with you at my side?" He kissed her lightly. "Anyway, what's wrong with the way I treat my interns. It worked for me, didn't it?" he asked, only half-joking.

"It did." Esme chose to be prudent. It wouldn't help to remind him that many of his staff feared him as much as they respected him. Carlisle, she'd realized long ago, is the product of his parents' upbringing. Well, more accurately, his cold, ambitious father's. His mother is too weak to stand up to the overbearing man. Her inability to overrule or temper her husband's unbending, often harsh, parenting style resulted in Carlisle's intransigent ways.

Esme understands her husband better than anyone—perhaps even more than he does himself. The Cullens and Platts have been friends for generations. Both Carlisle and Esme come from a long line of eminent doctors. Two years Carlisle's junior, she hero-worshipped him as a child and fell in love with him when only sixteen. He barely noticed her. To Carlisle, Esme was a child, still in high school; _he_ was starting pre-med. But, then, a decade later, at a medical fundraiser, he spied her, no longer a gawky schoolgirl but a stunning beauty on another man's arm. Carlisle was instantly smitten and relieved to discover that her escort was nothing more than a friend. He courted her, proposed within three months, and married her a year later. By then, Esme was serving her first year as a resident pediatrician, and Carlisle, his third of a five-year general surgery residency.

Esme fell pregnant in her last year. Six months into her pregnancy, with her residency complete, she stayed home to prepare for their baby's birth. Soon after Alice's first birthday, Esme joined a private practice, where she worked only three days a week while Carlisle completed his two-year cardiothoracic residency. Carlisle's single-minded approach to his career limited his time with his family; that's what he meant by not being a good father to Alice. His adoration of his wife and daughter, however, is blatantly apparent. Many have noted that only _they_ appear capable of thawing The Iceberg, the name, among other, often less complimentary, descriptors, Carlisle is called at the hospital.

Cold, unyielding, arrogant, all of those adjectives carry a great deal of truth when describing Carlisle Cullen, but those negative traits also contribute to the fact that he's one of the best among his peers. Beneath his cold, dictatorial exterior lies a man who, growing up, lacked affection. Carlisle had been taught that boys need direction, not coddling. His ideas and attitude toward life were shaped by a controlling father, 'If you want to amount to anything, you need to be focused. I'm teaching you to be a real man', Cameron Cullen's words, which, for Carlisle, seemed to punctuate almost every conversation between him and his father from boyhood to man, defined their relationship. It's hardly surprising that those very words, etched into his psyche, would influence his interactions with Edward.

The day after his conversation with Esme, Carlisle arranged for a DNA test, and, less than a week later, results confirmed him to be Edward's father. He didn't know quite what he felt when reading the findings. His emotions, something Carlisle had learned to control from an early age, were, suddenly, a tangled mess. He'd experienced fatherhood before. He and Esme planned it, he had nine months to grow used to the idea of a child, and yet, he'd agonized about his parenting abilities. Esme consoled him and gave him confidence. "We'll be the center of her world," she'd said; "there for her, every step of the way, from the moment she's born. She'll let us know what she needs, and if she doesn't, we'll figure it out."

This, though, the situation with Edward is so different, Carlisle thought. He hadn't seen his son—his _son_ —the word still sounded foreign to him— take his first breath. He hadn't held him, fragile and trusting in his arms, felt the bone-deep sense of protectiveness and love as that tiny hand gripped his finger. Edward spent thirteen years without him, with, perhaps, another man— _men_ —filling a father' role in his life. He spent ten months with government-sanctioned stand-ins. Carlisle had no idea how he'd respond to Edward or, more importantly, how Edward would react to him. How the hell, he agonized, was he supposed to breach a fourteen-year divide?

A few days after the test results, Carlisle received a file from Sharon Morris, Edward's caseworker. Carlisle's breath caught, his heart stammered, when confronted by the accompanying photograph. If he'd encountered this child on the street or anywhere else, he would have been left in no doubt of their connection. Edward inherited his mother's hair and eye color, but other than that, the child was his spitting image. Emotion churned in Carlisle's gut and in his heart—dread, and a stirring of something akin to love.

"He looks more like you than me," Alice said later as she stared at the photograph, her face a mixture of wonder and excitement.

"He does," were the only words Carlisle could manage before assuring his daughter that she'd always be his little girl. "Nothing will change that," he comforted her.

"I'm not worried," Alice replied, and Carlisle wished he could be as unruffled and excited as Esme and Alice about Edward's imminent arrival. While they fussed about turning one of the guest rooms into a sanctuary for Edward, he continued to fret about meeting his son.

And so, when the day finally arrived, when he stood before a child he knew only through a single photograph and scant information, he greeted Edward the way his father had always addressed him. "Hello, Edward," he said, offering his hand.

Edward had been taken aback when seeing Carlisle. In the weeks leading up to this meeting, he'd imagined many things, but he hadn't, once, dreamed his father would look so much like him. He'd thought about what they'd say to each other, and, with Lou in mind, Edward had wondered how it would feel when Carlisle hugged him; he'd wondered if he should reciprocate. His anger, the feeling of hurt lessened when he'd fantasized about that. And, for the first time since Elizabeth's funeral, he'd allowed himself a twinge of excitement about having a real family again.

Looking at Carlisle's outstretched hand, he wished that he hadn't. Edward choked back his disappointment. Silent, he reached out, their skin barely touching, before he pulled back. In the strained silence that followed, Carlisle dropped his arm, clenched and unclenched his hand, committing his first physical contact with his son to memory. He wished Edward had held on but hid his sense of dissatisfaction by addressing Sharon Morris. "Are those his things?" Carlisle glanced at the battered suitcase and equally worn guitar bag and grimaced, a feeling of guilt washing over him at the sight of the meager possessions.

Edward frowned, not liking what he interpreted as a disdainful expression. He grabbed his Martin before Carlisle could reach for it, then waited as Carlisle picked up the suitcase. He followed him to his expensive car, where his foster mother and caseworker were waiting to say goodbye. They wished him luck. "You'll be fine now," Sharon said as Carlisle shut the passenger door. Edward didn't answer. He didn't share her optimism.

On the nearly three-hour drive, Carlisle, confronted by Edward's monosyllabic responses, wished he'd ignored Esme's advice about taking the car. "It will give you time to get to know each other a bit," she'd cajoled. "We can do that in the comfort of our home just as easily," he'd argued. "But we'll be here," she'd said, meaning her and Alice. "It won't be the same, Carlisle. You need quality father-son time when you first meet, and what better way get it than without the distraction of other passengers." He, of course, had capitulated.

"Idiot!" he mentally castigated himself before glancing at the boy, his profile, so familiar, pointedly turned away. Carlisle wondered about Lou, the man, Edward reluctantly revealed, who'd given him the guitar he'd stubbornly refused to put in the trunk, the one nestled between his legs that he absentmindedly stroked while seemingly lost in thought.

"Who's Lou," Carlisle pressed, wanting more information. Seconds passed before Edward turned, his penetrating eyes unblinking. "My friend," he said and turned away again.

Carlisle sighed, his patience worn thin, but he forced back the rebuke on the tip of his tongue. All in good time, he told himself. Give him a few days to settle and then let him know what's expected of him. Cameron Cullen had been very precise about what he expected, and Carlisle had, subsequently, learned to focus on those goals. Perhaps, he thought, his father had been right all along. Boys, it would seem, _do_ need a strong hand, direction, and focus. If he gives his son nothing else, he'll make sure he gives him that, he resolved then.

So, facing the accusatory stares of his wife and daughter over their spoiled dinner, Carlisle repeated that thought. "This is a distraction; he can't lose focus. He has more than a decade of study ahead of him!"

"He may not want to follow in your footsteps, Carlisle; have you ever considered that? Have you stopped to find out what _Edward_ wants?"

"He said he wants to be a surgeon, Esme."

"To please you!" She exhaled in exasperation. "Carlisle, you're too harsh. Edward needs you to support, not trample, him. Why not let him explore this—" She stopped, cut off by the sound of the front door slamming. Carlisle pushed away from the table, his scowl back in place.

"Let him go. You both need to cool off."

"If he's…"

"He's gone to Bella," Alice interrupted her parents. Esme smiled, knowing that Bella, if anyone could, would calm Edward down. She had, after all, been doing it for over six years.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **A note of thanks to those readers who've contacted me to wish me luck with the Counsel series, to those who have taken the time to leave a review on Amazon or elsewhere, a special 'thank you'.**

 **It's late here (just gone 2.26 a.m.) and I've gone a bit cross-eyed checking this chapter. I apologize if I've missed any blatant errors.**

 **Until next time. Take care everyone,**

 **x**


	5. Chapter 5

**Unplugged - Chapter Three**

* * *

Edward slammed the front door, Carlisle's words still ringing in his ears. 'Six years, six fucking years,' he fumed. His teeth ground when thinking about just how hard he'd tried, in that time, to gain his father's approval. And yet, no matter what he did, no matter how far he bent over backward, nothing seemed good enough. It's not that Carlisle's never praised him—he has—but, always, hard on the heels of his encouragement, came a reminder to strive for more. "That's great, but you could do better, Son." "You can't afford to lose focus." ' _Focus_ ,' Edward scoffed. He loathed the word. It seemed to pepper almost every one of his father's conversations with or about him.

When Esme learned of Edward's talent for the piano and suggested getting one, Carlisle said, "the boy needs to focus on school; it will only distract him." Whenever he'd catch Edward playing his Martin, he'd ask, "Don't you have homework to do? Focus, Edward; success is all about focus." And then, when Edward started pre-med, the question became, "Shouldn't you be focussing on all the reading you need to do?" And who, in the Cullen household, could ever forget Carlisle's reaction when discovering seventeen-year-old Edward's habit of hanging out with his friends in North Philly? That incident led to the first of several explosive arguments between father and son. Before that, Edward had held his tongue but Carlisle's reference to performing in clubs, a comment Edward considered a criticism of Elizabeth and Lou, incensed him.

"Where did you meet them?" Carlisle demanded, then looked incredulous when Edward explained that he'd met Jake busking in the city. "We talked, and he invited me to hang with him and his friends," he said.

"Why do you think we pay for you to attend a private school?" Carlisle demanded. "To keep you away from bad influences; to ensure you succeed in life!"

"Not only rich people succeed!" Edward retaliated.

"Well, not many from that neighborhood do!"

"How the hell would you know? You've never met anyone from there. You're not even interested in meeting my friends—"

"You're damn right; I'm not, and I don't want you spending time with them either," Carlisle cut in.

"You're a snob!" Edward said, his face a picture of disgust.

"I'm nothing of the kind! I mix with people from all walks of life _every_ day. I treat anyone and everyone, but visiting that neighborhood and associating with those boys won't do your future any good, Edward."

"You don't _mix_ with those people; you play God! They're just _cases_ to you! And, for your information, there's nothing wrong with Jake—you can't judge him; you don't know him."

"I know he won't amount to much if his ambitions don't rise above playing music on the streets or in seedy clubs."

Edward shook with anger. "My mother played clubs because _you_ screwed up her life. She could have had a great career, and I wouldn't be here to spoil your perfect life if you'd kept it in your pants!"

Carlisle scowled, annoyed by Edward's disrespect, but also at himself for his careless words. He hadn't meant to belittle Elizabeth; he didn't fault her choices, but he _did_ want more for his son. More importantly, he wished Edward would accept that he didn't resent having him in his life. He loved him, and loving him meant wanting the best for him. Carlisle started to protest, but Edward refused to listen. He'd had enough; he stormed out. Esme, who'd rushed Alice and her school friend upstairs when the argument started, reappeared just as Edward left Carlisle's office. She tried to placate him, but Edward, for the first time, refused to accept Esme's assurances of, "It's just a misunderstanding. Your father didn't mean it like that." Edward didn't doubt her sincerity or her love, but he just couldn't believe her, not anymore.

And so, following the LA argument, just like he did after that first altercation and every one after, Edward contacted the only person, who, since his mother and Lou, he felt truly understood him. He pulled out his phone and, as he crossed the Cullens' manicured lawn, composed a text message, _our place now?_

 _**. . . . .**_

Edward and Bella met when, she, searching the garden for her cat, Molly, heard an unfamiliar sound. Leaning over the three-foot wall to peer through a gap in the boxwood hedge separating the Swan and Cullen properties, she spied Edward leaning against the old willow oak. No one in the Cullen household, with the notable exception of the gardener, visited the spot at the bottom of the garden. Edward claimed it; for him, it soon became a haven, a place he could play his Martin without admonishment from Carlisle, where he could avoid Esme, Alice, or Diane, the housekeeper. Not that he found their company unwelcome, far from it, but Edward sometimes needed a break from their constant attention. To him, it often felt overwhelming and, on occasion, even suffocating. The Cullens didn't understand, and he didn't want to appear ungrateful or hurt their feelings, but, sometimes, Edward welcomed feeling sad. For him, it went hand-in-hand with his memories of Elizabeth and Lou, and he didn't want to forget them—ever.

He'd known about the girl next door of course; Alice, the chatterbox, had mentioned her many times. So, he hadn't been entirely surprised when she appeared, but he had been irritated. He'd hoped that, by ignoring her, she'd leave. She didn't, and so he'd glanced up, intending to warn her off. But, confronted by eyes that reminded him of cinnamon, the spice Elizabeth mixed with sugar to make delicious, buttery toast, and an expression reminiscent of a startled but curious doe, Edward had difficulty reproducing his signature scowl. And then she smiled; so sweet, it almost eroded his antagonism. He, at least, stopped himself from reciprocating. He watched her blush and run away. Instead of being relieved as he'd expected, Edward felt an unwelcome sense of disappointment.

As for Bella, she'd frozen at the sight of the boy, lanky, legs drawn up as he huddled over a guitar—crazy, red-brown hair obscuring his face. She stared, mesmerized by the movement of his hands, the sounds he coaxed from the instrument, and his voice. He was so different from the raucous, clumsy boys she knew. She held her breath, not daring to move because she didn't want him to stop.

Bella's heart stuttered when, suddenly, the boy looked up—straight at her. Her lips curved upward, a tentative, friendly offering. He didn't return her smile, and his gaze didn't falter, and, though he stopped singing, he kept playing, not missing a note. Bella, embarrassed by his indifference, fled. Breathless, she collapsed in her tree house, the place she went to read, to dream without being disturbed by her over-protective mother. There, she pondered the boy. Who was he? Why was he in the Cullens' garden? She remembered how beautifully he'd played the guitar, how much she'd liked his voice, but mostly, she reflected on the sense of loneliness that surrounded him. She thought about his eyes. She'd never seen any quite so green, nor had she seen anyone's look quite as sad. They reminded her of Molly's when she'd found her, abandoned. And just like it had for the stray she'd begged her parents to keep, Bella's tender heart ached for the mystery boy.

Edward stayed much longer than he normally would that day. He hoped the girl would reappear. She didn't, and his feeling of discontent increased. Afraid that anyone, Alice, especially, would discover his retreat, Edward didn't visit too often, but, in the days following his encounter with Bella, he made the trip daily. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt when, each day, she returned. She didn't smile again, nor did she try to engage him in conversation. Hardly surprising; Edward had, after all, been pretty rude. For some inexplicable reason, her reticence disappointed him. He could barely contain his delight when, a few days later, she squeezed through the hedge, and, then, maintaining a safe distance, sat, cross-legged, and listened to him play. Afraid of scaring her off again, Edward continued to ignore her, although, his eyes, seemingly of their own volition, continuously found hers.

On the last day of that week, Edward reneged. "What's your name," he asked even though, through Alice, he'd already known.

"Bella. What's yours?" she said, heralding the start of their incredibly close bond.

 **. . . . .**

Having sent the message, Edward waited, anxious for a response. Next door, in the Swan home, Bella's phone vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans. She retrieved it, read the message, and typed a response, _fifteen minutes,_ before addressing her mother. "Do you need me for anything else, Mom?"

"No, sweetie; I've got this."

"Okay. I'm going out for a while."

"Sure, honey. Don't be late; you know how your Dad worries."

"I'm eighteen," Bella reminded Renee, knowing her mother fretted more than her husband. Charlie did worry but he, a senior vice president at a global investment bank, was often too preoccupied with business to monitor his daughter's every move.

"You'll always be our little girl. Now, where and who are you going out with?" Renee asked

"Edward," Bella answered but didn't elaborate because she didn't want to let Renee know just where she'd be meeting Edward. Commissioned for her seventh birthday, nestled between two large trees on a platform elevated eight feet above the ground, Bella's tree house is unlike most of its kind. Charlie, guilty about not having time to build it himself, like most fathers, and with a tendency to spoil his daughter, spared no expense. The structure, its exterior painted in tones of soft, mossy green to blend with its surroundings, has a narrow deck stretching across the front. The interior, the size of a large bedroom, dry walled for insulation, has electricity and is tall enough to accommodate a grown man standing upright. The ceiling boasts two, large skylights affording views of treetops and glimpses of sky. A custom-built daybed flanked on either side by floor to ceiling bookcases takes up one wall.

To seven-year-old Bella, the tree house with interiors decorated in shades of pastel pink and lavender, the child-sized table and chairs, cozy rug, the rows and rows of books, the overflowing toy boxes, felt like something out of a fairytale. Her parents had hoped that having a special place would encourage their self-contained daughter to invite friends home more often. Bella did, but only rarely. Instead, it became her sanctuary, somewhere she'd escape to read and dream without constant surveillance. Renee, naturally, checked on her daughter frequently but, as Bella grew older, she protested more and more vehemently until, eventually, Charlie intervened. "The house and grounds are protected by a state-of-the-art security system," he reminded Renee and, then, as a compromise, suggested installing an intercom system. His proposal and Bella's promise to curtail her time spent in the tree house settled the matter. It also made it easier, later, for Bella and Edward to keep their rendezvous hidden.

Both families knew about their friendship, of course. They were also aware that Bella and Edward spent time in the tree house. Renee visited there more often on those occasions—not that she distrusted either Bella or Edward. Renee was being circumspect. Besides, it satisfied Charlie, who, like every doting father, bristled at the thought of a boy's interest in his daughter. "He's two years older, for God's sake!" he objected when Renee called him stupid. "Edward's a good kid, and they're _friends_ , Charlie." "Just watch him!" he grumbled, although he did, silently and reluctantly, admit that Edward did, indeed, seem like a nice kid. Besides, he consoled himself; he trusted his daughter. Bella was no fool.

At fifteen, Edward's body started filling out, his jawline and cheekbones gained definition. By seventeen, the lanky youth was well on his way to becoming a devastatingly attractive young man. Edward, unsurprisingly, proved popular with the girls even in his freshman and sophomore years. An A-grade student, good at athletics, his appearance, coupled with his brooding, 'don't touch me' personality, heightened his appeal. Boys tried to emulate him, while girls vied for his attention, and Edward, like most males of that age, didn't resist too hard. He lost his virginity in his junior year and, after, dated several girls. Edward kept things casual. 'I'm no one's boyfriend,' he'd tell any girl who wanted more. He didn't encourage public displays of affection, and he didn't flaunt his conquests like many of his peers. In fact, he rarely, if ever, mentioned girls—especially not to Bella.

Bella knew about Edward's dating record. She attended the same high school, and he had become somewhat of a legend, even among freshmen. Bella hid her hurt well. She didn't want her romantic feelings, feelings she'd harbored for Edward from the start, to mar their friendship. They continued to spend time together, even after Edward started high school. And then, once Bella joined him there, he shocked his peers, ignored their supercilious looks, their comments and often chose to spend lunchtime with Bella. Edward's conquests, past, present, and the ever hopeful, however, expressed more than surprise. They were irked, downright catty whenever their paths crossed Bella's. She ignored them, the Cullen Alley Cats as she'd secretly named them; she urged her small band of loyal friends to do the same. Bella's poise only drove the jealous females to greater lengths.

Two were particularly spiteful. "Bella's my friend; don't talk shit about her! You're not fit to even say her name." Edward spat at one, Tanya, when he caught her sneering about ' pathetic virgin Bella, pining for Edward.' Embarrassed in front of fellow students, Tanya tried to backtrack, but Edward wouldn't listen. He didn't ever speak to or even look at her again.

Then, one evening, soon after Bella's seventeenth birthday, Edward wandered across the lawn to visit her only to find her leaving on a date. Jealousy, a foreign emotion until then, soured his gut. The sight of the smarmy bastard's hand on the small of Bella's back, the proprietorial look in his eye, drove Edward to near-violence. And, 'holy fuck!' he thought when looking at Bella. 'When the hell did she turn into such a glorious creature?'

"Ed…Edward? What are you doing here?" Bella stammered.

"I thought we could hang out," Edward said, wanting to kick himself because his voice, instead of nonchalant, sounded strangled. He felt even more ridiculous when seeing Renee's sympathetic smile and Charlie's smug grin.

"Oh!" Bella flushed crimson. "Could we do that tomorrow?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"Umm…sure. I'll call you," Edward muttered and walked away.

"Edward!" Bella called out, and he turned, nearly bumping into her. He grasped her bare shoulders to steady her, and sweet Mary, the tingle shooting from his fingers straight to his groin nearly floored him. "I'm sorry…" Bella whispered, equally startled. Her eyes beseeched him, but Edward, battling his own jumbled emotions couldn't, at that moment, decipher the message Bella was trying to convey.

"Enjoy your night," he said, his smile as forced as his words.

Edward thought about calling Jake. He thought about having a couple of beers—or plenty—perhaps even smoking a joint or two. He considered calling a girl, any girl from his contact list, and screwing himself senseless. That, he felt, would surely rid him of these new and chaotic feelings he was having for Bella—his _friend_. But Edward did none of that. Instead, he let himself into the tree house. He waited there for hours until, just before eleven, he heard a car crunch up the Swan's driveway. Edward hurtled down the steps. He watched the smarmy bastard lead Bella to the porch; he held his breath, gritted his teeth as he saw him lower his head. The guy obstructed his view, so he couldn't tell whether he kissed Bella's mouth or cheek. A while ago, while pondering his emotions, Edward had suddenly realized who the bastard was. He'd seen him sniff around Bella at school. He slunk away each time Edward appeared. 'Well, he's certainly making up for lost time now,' Edward seethed. 'Probably started his campaign to win her over the minute I graduated.' Fury, dark and hot rose in Edward's chest, nearly cutting off his air supply. It took everything he had to remain in place. He signed in relief when Bella turned away without reciprocating in any way. Edward watched Bella raise her hand, a goodnight gesture, before entering the house.

He waited until her bedroom window lit up before composing a text. _Meet me in the tree house._

Minutes passed, time enough for him to second-guess himself before Bella replied. _Now?_

 _Yes_ , Edward typed.

 _Half an hour. For my parents to go to bed._

 _Fine_ , Edward wrote before returning to the tree house. Inside, he stared at the walls, the cushions on the daybed—neutral tones long having replaced the former, girly décor. Edward traced a long finger over the many books on the shelves, his and Bella's, blended haphazardly. He relived the countless hours he'd spent in this room with Bella, playing his guitar, reading, talking. Her, listening, ever sympathetic, to Edward's latest woes with Carlisle, calming him, easing the ache in his heart with her quiet, enduring support.

Edward cursed, terrified about changing the status quo. He worried about what these new feelings would do to their friendship. He wondered how Bella would react to being summoned so late at night—to his admission. He panicked, realizing he'd acted without thinking. Anxiety gnawed at him. 'What the hell am I doing?' he admonished himself and paced the length of the room and back. He rubbed his neck, tugged his hair as he tried to cobble together an explanation.

Lost in thought, he failed to hear her climb the stairs; he didn't hear her open the room until he turned to see Bella standing there, looking so fucking beautiful even in sweats and a t-shirt. He couldn't get the picture of her dressed up out of his mind, though. Her dark, shiny hair, falling over her breasts, straight, except for the wavy ends, ends he'd playfully tugged at in her ponytail a thousand times before; her soulful eyes, her long lashes, darkened with make-up—all for a date with a smarmy bastard. Reason deserted Edward when remembering the guy kissing Bella. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, cupped her neck and kissed her. Edward groaned at the first touch of Bella's lips. He circled her waist with his free arm, drew her in, and deepened the kiss.

And Bella? She'd dreamt of this, so many, many times, yet her brain, befuddled all night by thoughts of Edward despite her date's, pleasant company, found it impossible to comprehend. 'I must be dreaming,' she thought and then, when Edward's tongue met hers, the rational part of her brain ceased functioning; she surrendered herself to sensation.

Neither the Cullens nor the Swans expressed surprise when Bella and Edward announced they were dating. Older and wiser, they'd recognized the pair's uncanny bond years before. Charlie, however, couldn't let the opportunity pass. Just because he'd been forced to acknowledge their relationship, didn't mean it didn't rankle that another male had managed to gain his daughter's affection. That, coupled with his concern about the age gap and the disparity, he perceived, in Edward's sexual experience and that of his, then, barely seventeen-year-old daughter, prompted Charlie to issue a warning. "Bella's practically an adult, old enough to make her own decisions, but I'm holding _you_ responsible. You'd better respect my daughter—you _know_ what I mean—and don't hurt her," he told Edward, the underlying threat unmistakable.

Edward accepted Charlie's injunction with good grace, assuring him that he'd never disrespect or knowingly hurt Bella. And he did try to honor his promise—despite how hard it was to resist Bella's appeal. Edward could not believe how the girl, who, for years, he'd viewed platonically could so unexpectedly turn his body into an inferno of lust and his brain into an incoherent mush.

Bella and Edward were deeply and passionately in love. Neither found it easy to contain their sexual desires, yet they did. Twelve months into their relationship, Bella was still a virgin. Edward was, of course, experienced, Bella totally innocent when they started dating. She enjoyed each stage of their exploration. She reveled in his attentiveness, his patient tutelage while forcibly suppressing thoughts of how he'd gained such expertise. Bella learned to kiss Edward breathless, pleasure him manually, orally. She delighted in the power she held over his body as much as Edward enjoyed the hold he had on hers.

And yet, seemingly by tacit agreement, they'd refrained from taking the final step—until the night of the LA argument.

"He just doesn't fucking understand—he doesn't _want_ to!" Edward said about that altercation with Carlisle, his voice ragged with emotion. Bella tugged his hand from his hair and kissed the palm, wishing she could knock sense into Carlisle Cullen. Didn't he see what he was doing to his son? Didn't he _care_?

She didn't know the man well; met him only half a dozen times. He'd been pleasant on each occasion but, still, Carlisle had always intimidated Bella. Not that he did anything, particularly, to engender that feeling; he just seemed distant, nothing like Charlie, who, despite also having a demanding career, managed, when at home or in social settings, to leave his professional persona behind. Bella had only visited the Cullen home twice. The first occasion happened early in their friendship when she'd been curious about Edward's books. The second was soon after they started dating when Esme invited her to have dinner with the family. Carlisle and Edward didn't argue on either of those occasions, but it wouldn't have taken a genius to determine the emotion, the unresolved tension, between the pair. Bella noticed the way Carlisle looked at Edward when he thought no one was watching. Bella felt sure Carlisle loved his son; and she knew how desperately Edward yearned for his father's approval, his affection. But Carlisle, it seemed, was incapable of voicing his feelings, and Edward, too afraid of rejection to articulate his needs.

"Are you sure about this? You're doing so well in pre-med." Bella asked.

"I'm not totally averse to becoming a doctor; it's just that I don't love it," Edward explained. "Music's always felt like a necessity, not just something I do for recreation or fun like Carlisle thinks."

"I know, and you're a brilliant musician. Does he even know about your compositions? Your lyrics?"

"He doesn't care, Bella. Carlisle hates everything to do with music…because of my mom. He considers her a failure."

"Oh, Edward, you know she wasn't. She was a wonderful mother."

" _I_ know that… I just wish _he'd_ acknowledge it."

"What are you going to do? What do you _want_ to do?" Bella asked.

"I honestly don't know. This may be the only opportunity I get, but—"

"Why don't you try talking to Carlisle again?"

"He made it clear that the matter was closed. He said if I went, I shouldn't return!"

"I'm sure he didn't mean it—"

"Christ, Bella, not you too! I'm sick of hearing that. He fucking _did_ ; he _always_ means what he says," Edward exploded, then immediately felt contrite. "Sorry…. I'm just—" He screwed his eyes shut, expelled a long breath. Hurt oozed from every pore.

Bella straddled Edward's lap, running her fingers through his unruly hair. She encouraged him to lean back and touched her forehead to his. Her hair swung forward, blanketing them in a cocoon of intimacy. She brushed her lips over his tenderly, peppered kisses along his jaw. "Forget about Carlisle, forget about LA for now…" she whispered, her breath caressing his ear.

Edward cupped her neck, kissed her deeply, clasped her body close. "Bella—" he groaned, gripping her hips as she started to undulate over him.

Edward eased his hands under her top and over her silky-smooth skin to cup her breasts. He squeezed before brushing his thumbs over the peaked nipples.

Bella made a small noise, deep in her throat, the sound eliciting a zing of pleasure that shot straight to Edward's groin. He strained upward, sought more friction. Bella obliged, rotated her hips until they were both left panting. Edward shifted their bodies, rolled Bella onto her back and scooted them into a more comfortable position.

He tugged at the hem of her top. "I want to see you, feel your skin," he murmured. Bella raised her torso and discarded her top. "Pants too."

Edward helped Bella up, watched her shimmy out of her sweats, admired the lines of her body—her long legs, the dip of her hip, the curve of her breast. He toed off his shoes, removed his clothes and, then, dropping them to the floor, lowered himself over her. He kissed Bella, long and deep, each swirl of their tongues ratcheting their passion higher until they writhed, a mass of molten flesh. Finally, Edward drew back, allowing them both to breathe. "I love you, Bella," he said, lips close to her ear.

Bella cupped Edward's face, urged him to look at her. "I love you too, Edward. Make love to me."

Edward stilled, waited a long moment. "Are you sure?"

Bella raised her hand and, using her forefinger, gently traced his frown. "Positive."

 **. . . . .**

"Are you okay?" Edward spoke against Bella's shoulder. He moved her hair aside, nuzzled, and then kissed her neck. The touch of his lips made her tremble, her stomach clench at the memory of what his mouth, other parts of him, had done to her. Bella sighed more in love than ever; she felt content, sated, and lucky, _incredibly_ lucky. She'd listened to her friends' stories of their first time. So many had had their romantic dreams dashed by the reality of rushed, awkward fumbling, sometimes meaningless encounters. Bella couldn't conceive of a gentler, more thorough lover than Edward, or a more romantic or fulfilling sexual experience than the one they'd just shared.

She hugged Edward's arms, which held her, back to his chest. "Much more than okay," she assured him.

"Your dad's going to kill me," he said.

"I won't let him," Bella stifled a giggle. Edward smiled and kissed her shoulder. He settled in behind her, his mouth to her ear.

"I love you. Thank you."

"For saving you from my Dad?"

"For loving me."

"You don't have to thank me, Edward. I'll always love you."

They stayed, cuddled together, lost in thought until, some, indeterminate time later, Bella spoke.

"You should go to LA. See what they're offering."

"Do you really think that, or are you saying what you think I want to hear?"

"Edward, you'd make a fine doctor, but it won't satisfy you. Music's in your blood, and you'll always be restless—wondering— if you don't at least investigate your options. Try talking to Carlisle again; he'll come round, you'll see."

Edward didn't share Bella's optimism, but she'd elicited a promise from him to try, so he did. It made no difference.

"It's only a few days," he said two days later at LAX when, ignoring the jostling throng, the interested bystanders, he kissed Bella passionately. "I love you. I'll call you when I get there."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I'd also like to thank those who have chosen to follow and/or favorite Unplugged and, of course, also those readers who have followed or favorited me. I apologize for not doing so in my last post. It slipped my mind. Please know that I am flattered and grateful for your support.**

 **I'm pretty sure I've responded to all reviews. If I've missed any, again, I'm sorry. I'm a bit inundated right now, trying to promote the Counsel Series while also writing Unplugged and developing another novel for publication. And, as you already know from your own hectic schedules, real life is a harsh taskmaster!**

 **Oh, and just to share some information. A couple of readers have asked when the storyline will catch up to the prologue.**

 **So, here's my response for anyone else who may be wondering.**

 **I anticipate around Chapter 5 or 6, but, please, don't hold me to those numbers. There's a lot of background to get through, and, because I aim, always, to have readers know, not merely become acquainted with my main characters, I tend to delve deeply. I Hope you're all still hanging in there.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time.**

 **X**


	6. Chapter 6

**Twilight characters remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All other, original, characters, story, and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged – Chapter Four**

Edward's predicted 'few' days in LA turned into six. For much of that time, from start to finish, he felt rushed, overwhelmed, quite frankly. Victoria, it seemed, had planned his every waking moment. By the end of his stay, except for four or five hours sleep, snatched after falling into bed at some ungodly hour each morning, Edward had difficulty remembering when last he'd been alone for more than an hour to rest or just sit and relax. 'Probably on the plane,' he muttered when the thought occurred.

There, ensconced in his first class seat traveling to LA, Edward had relived the days immediately before his departure. The only pleasant memories he had were the hours spent with Bella. Again, he cursed himself for lost time. "I'm a fucking idiot for not realizing how I felt," Edward had confessed the night before.

"We're together now; that's all that matters," Bella had said, cupping his jaw.

"But I'm leaving tomorrow—it's only for a couple of days, I know, but what if they offer to sign me? What then?"

"We'll figure it out, Edward. Besides, even if you don't end up in LA, it's not like we'd be welded to each other's sides. You have med school, and I'm starting college. And, if we _do_ end up living in different states, we'll make it work. Lots of long distance relationships last—if those involved want it to."

"I _want_ this to work, Bella—more than anything."

"Well, I feel the same way, so that's that. No matter what happens, in the end, it's up to _us_ if we make it work or not," Bella had said, pulling his face to hers. That tender kiss had led to another, and another, and then, another, each more heated, desperate than the last. "Naked, I want you naked," Edward had demanded, even as Bella, impatiently, tugged at his belt.

At five a.m., five hours before his scheduled departure, Edward had watched Bella sneak back into the Swan home. His entry into the Cullen residence hadn't gone as smoothly. Carlisle, awake for an early shift, met him at the foot of the stairs.

"Practicing to be a rock star?" he'd greeted Edward acerbically.

"I told you; I'm just checking things out."

"So you did. Well, let me repeat what _I_ told _you_ , Edward. If you follow this absurd dream, don't expect my support."

"Don't worry, Dad; message received, loud and clear." Edward had passed Carlisle without a backward glance and, so, missed his father's pained expression. Carlisle, on the other hand, had stared after his son and pondered, for a fleeting moment, whether he'd been too harsh. 'Is this the best way to approach this rebellious streak?' he'd wondered, and then, remembering how being kept on the straight and narrow had kept him grounded, dismissed what he'd considered an errant thought.

In his room, Edward, bristling from the exchange and too pent-up to sleep, had yanked a duffle bag from under the bed. Then, angrily tugging at the zipper, tossed his favorite leather boots, underwear, black jeans and six t-shirts into its confines. 'I'll wear the blue with my Chucks,' he'd mentally noted. Then, delving into the closet again, he'd pulled out a pair of black dress pants and two button downs, one charcoal, the other, black, and added them to the bag because Victoria had warned that he 'may need to look decent on occasion.'

Edward had rezipped the bag, exhaled a ragged breath, and fought the sudden, overwhelming urge to ram a fist into a wall. Only the thought of disturbing Esme and Alice had stopped him. 'Fuck him,' he'd thought, choking down the hurt and disappointment caused by Carlisle's words and actions. Edward had stripped, crawled into bed, and, instead of Carlisle's displeasure, had consoled himself with Bella's belief in him and her reassurances that, no matter what transpired in LA, _they'd_ be okay.

 **. . . . .**

 _Arrived safely - traveling to the studio now. I hope you're having a fabulous day. I'll call tonight. I love you._ Edward texted Bella, wishing he could talk to her, if only for a few minutes. It would help calm the nervous excitement bubbling up inside him. He smiled, despite his anxiety, when remembering why he couldn't reach his girlfriend. Bella, attending an orientation day at Penn, was busy, and probably feeling just as excited about starting college as he was about being in LA. The only difference is that, unlike Edward, Bella was unequivocal about her career path. Also, in contrast to Edward, _she_ had her parents' wholehearted support.

Bella had admitted Charlie's influence on her decision to become a corporate lawyer, but Edward knew that her father would not, in any way, have coerced her. Charlie would have endorsed any of his daughter's choices, but Bella had always expressed interest in his work. While Renee's eyes glazed over at the mere mention of business, Bella would listen, patient and curious, as Charlie described his day. She'd positively glow with pride while regaling Edward with her dad's achievements, so he hadn't been surprised when, at sixteen, she'd announced her intention to study corporate law. And recently, when deciding her under-grad degree, he'd been equally unsurprised when she'd nominated English as her major and busines, a minor. Her passion for reading had, very obviously, inspired the former. Edward had been proud and thrilled for Bella when she'd confirmed her acceptance by Penn, and, when saying goodbye at the airport, he reminded her of that fact. 'I'm so fucking proud of my smart friend—my _girlfriend_ ,' he said. Edward hadn't ever doubted that Bella, intelligent and tenacious, would achieve her goals. And while Bella's success is all but assured, he's equally positive that if, for some remote, unknown reason, she faltered or changed her mind that Charlie and Renee would support her.

Edward sighed, determined not to revisit _his_ family catastrophe. He leaned forward—a long way forward, in the longest limousine known to man—to open the privacy screen. "How long till we get there," he asked the driver.

"Studio's in West Hollywood, so 'bout fifty minutes, Sir," the man said, his Southern drawl deep and low like thunder rolling in the distance.

"Please…call me Edward. Do you work for Arrius or another company, Chester?"

"Been with Arrius for 'most twenty years, Edward; and my friends call me Chez."

"Thanks, Chez." Edward smiled, instantly liking the man. He hadn't known why, exactly, but, from the moment he introduced himself to Edward at the airport, Chez reminded him of Lou. Perhaps, Edward thought, it's the fact that he's around the same age as Lou when he'd died; perhaps it's because he has the same, warm personality, the same keen, yet caring eyes. "So, you've known Mr. Larsen that long?" he asked Chez.

"I knew Aro when he was just an upstart in the business."

"You're a musician?"

"You lookin' at another washed-up, wannabe, my friend," Chez chuckled.

"You don't seem too worried about it."

"Nah! This town's full of failed actors, musicians, and other desperates wantin' to make it big. Some just didn't catch a break, but most, like me, ain't good enough. I gave it a shot, though; 'least I'll die knowin' that."

Edward liked the sentiment and warmed to Chez even more. He asked, and Chez told him he left Mississippi to make records. "Raised on the blues and collard greens," he laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he peered into the rearview mirror. "Still nursin' that guitar case, I see." He said guitar like geetar. Edward liked that too; the emphasis, he felt, gave his Martin the respect it deserved. Chez grinned at the memory of Edward's refusal to have his Martin travel in the trunk. "What you got in there?"

"A 1969 Martin D-35," Edward said, and Chez whistled appreciatively. So Edward told him about Lou and how they'd met at the jazz club where Elizabeth performed.

"Then you know the blues," Chez nodded his approval.

"Love the blues," Edward confirmed. "Do you play?"

"Yeah, a Fender Stratocaster—damn near starved at times but just couldn't sell it." Edward hummed in understanding and then, after a short silence, quizzed Chez about Arrius' studios. "State of the art; only the best for Aro, " he replied and elaborated on the equipment.

It was Edward's turn to be impressed. "You weren't kidding; I thought the car was extravagant. I won't know what the hell I'm doing with _any_ of that stuff."

"Y'all learn, and Jason, he's one of the best engineers in the business. If you work with him—he'll look after you.

" _If_ Arrius makes me an offer, and _if_ I accept."

"Ain't hungry fo' this, no sense bein' here," Chez said.

"Oh, I want it," Edward responded and, reluctant to rehash his relationship with Carlisle, didn't elaborate.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence until Chez spoke. "Fifteen minutes," he said. Edward straightened and looked around him when Chez pointed out some of the iconic music venues on Sunset Boulevard. "Over there's The Viper Lounge. "Johnny Depp used to own it. It's also where River Phoenix died from a drug overdose; another kid who didn't know how to handle fame."

"On the other side, y'all see the Whisky a Go Go. The Doors, The Byrds, and Steppenwolf got started there, and other greats like Van Morrison also gigged there. Keep looking; we 'bout to pass the Roxy Theatre."

Edward craned his neck eagerly. He knew the names, admired the many, _many_ artists who'd played and recorded in those venues. What musician, passionate about his craft didn't? But, seeing the iconic buildings in person made his presence in LA seem even more surreal and daunting.

"This it—" Chez announced and parked in front of an imposing brown brick building, the street number and the Arrius logo emblazoned in bold, stainless steel above equally impressive double glass doors. Edward grabbed his guitar and left the limo. "Reception's through there. You meeting Victoria?" Chez asked, handing Edward his bag.

"Yeah," Edward said. "Her, and her boss, and maybe Mr. Larsen."

"Victoria's smart, but watch yourself; ain't no telling what that woman's up to sometimes. See ya, Edward."

"Sure," Edward replied easily and shook Chez's hand. Years later, he remembered those cautionary words and wished, then, that he'd paid more attention.

 **. . . . .**

Edward left the meeting with his brain swirling and a three-album contract offer. His usually sharp mind had difficulty grasping the speed of events. Despite being hopeful and Bella's unwavering confidence in his talent, he hadn't, in reality, believed traveling to LA would result in anything definite. In fact, until ten minutes before leaving the meeting room, Edward hadn't had reason to think differently. Mitch Walker, Victoria's boss, having questioned him in-depth—how long have you been playing, what about writing, how prolific are you, what are you working on right now, what genre do you think your music falls into—hadn't hinted at a contract. Neither he nor Victoria, during their debates, at times heated, tossing around terms such as 'saturated' and 'gaps in the market', had they raised the possibility of a contract. Nor did they mention one when they'd sought Edward's opinion on artists or music genres or probed him about how his music compared with one or the other.

Aro's entry halted discussions. The man was _exactly_ what Edward expected—sharp, incredibly knowledgeable about music, the industry past and present, and, quite frankly, impressive, almost intimidating, in his confidence. Even Mitch, with, reportedly, an enviable business reputation among his peers, seemed subdued in Aro's presence. And Victoria, vocal, pushy, and unafraid to oppose her boss, agreed almost obsequiously with everything he said.

Aro repeated many of Mitch's questions, except that he delved deeper and listened more intently. Aro, Edward concluded, preferred listening to talking, and yet, despite his lack of verbosity, he didn't doubt that Aro learned and saw more than either Mitch or Victoria ever would. Apparently satisfied, he surprised Edward and, it seemed, his executives by opening a discussion about music theory, touching on the aspects of hearing, reading, singing, and listening—rhythm versus pace. Edward shared what he knew, what he'd explored and was, still, eager to explore. He told how Elizabeth had taught and inspired him. Finally, Aro rose. "Great talking to you, Edward. I like your music and what you've had to say, and I'd like to sign you to Arrius. Mitch and Victoria will sort out the details," he said and left. Edward stood, flabbergasted, until Mitch spoke.

"Sit; let's discuss the details," he said, and, then, when Edward complied, explained Aro's three-album offer, which, in effect, was an agreement to sign exclusively with Arrius for five years. In exchange, Edward would earn twelve percent royalties. "That's the gist of it. It's a damned good deal for an untested and unknown artist," Mitch assured him. "There are terms covering advances, territories, promotions, rights, and release commitments, among other things… your lawyers will explain them in detail," he added at Edward's apparent bewilderment. Victoria will provide you with a draft contract by the end of day tomorrow," Mitch said before he, also, left.

Still stunned and overloaded with information, Edward had followed Victoria back to reception. "I have another meeting, but I'll see you at your hotel for dinner at eight-thirty," she told him. "Sandy will get a driver to drop you off." Victoria nodded at the blonde behind the desk, and then, after stroking Edward's arm, walked away. "Great meeting," she called out, smiling over her shoulder.

"I'll wait outside," Edward told Sandy when she informed him that 'your driver will be here in a minute.' He hoped fresh air would help clear his mind, and when the limo pulled up, Edward suffered only a momentary pang of disappointment when the driver, Jose, not Chez, emerged to greet him. 'Good,' he thought because, given his current state, he couldn't trust himself not to mention Aro's offer, and as much as Edward needed, desperately, to talk to someone other than Victoria or Mitch, he wanted to share his news with Bella first.

Jose pulled up at the Sunset Marquis Hotel, a favorite haunt of musicians and celebs, he informed Edward. It didn't take long to check-in and, upstairs, in his room, anxious to phone Bella, Edward barely noticed his surroundings. After placing his guitar case on the bed, he carelessly tossed his bag on the sofa and quickly visited the bathroom. Then, checking the time— six-ten, nine-ten in Philly—called.

"Hi," Bella answered immediately.

"Hey; how are you," he said, feeling his tension dissipate at the sound of her voice.

"Good, but more importantly, how are you?"

"I'm okay; tons to share, but I want to hear your news first," Edward insisted and then listened, smiling, to Bella's account of visiting Penn. "You sound excited," he said when she'd finished.

"I am; very. Everyone seems friendly and very helpful."

"Meet any potential friends?"

"Yeah; a girl called Erin, who's also studying English for pre-law. We hit it off and pretty much stuck together for the rest of the day."

"That's great. It's always good to know someone at the start of your first semester."

"It is! What about your news?" Bella asked, and so Edward told her about the meeting and Aro's offer.

"Edward, that's fabulous…it's what you wanted, isn't it?" Bella asked, concerned at his slow response.

"It's just that—I didn't expect things to happen this fast. I'm still a bit shocked, I suppose."

"That's natural. So what, exactly, are they offering?"

"Well, they want me to sign a contract to produce three albums over five years, and I'll earn twelve percent royalties."

"Is that a good or bad deal?"

"Victoria and Mitch, her boss, both say I'm lucky, that it's a better deal than almost any new artist gets. It sounds great, but how the hell would I know, Bella? I play the piano and guitar and write music and lyrics. I don't know anything about contracts, or royalties, advances, release commitments, or any of the things mentioned. Mitch says my lawyers will explain, but I don't have a lawyer. I could ask Dad for advice, but—"

"I could ask my dad; he'd know someone who could help," Bella offered, "but he's still away," she said, reminding Edward about Charlie's business trip to London. "Can it wait till he gets back?"

"I guess; I'm not sure."

"So, what now? Are you still leaving on Wednesday?"

"That's my plan, but I'll check with Victoria when we meet for dinner."

"What's she like?" Bella asked and immediately wished she hadn't. She wasn't insecure, but she _was_ human and couldn't deny being curious and a teensy bit envious of the woman who'd made Edward's dream possible.

"Outspoken, pushy—just like every other ambitious person in this town…in this industry, I guess," Edward answered easily, and, then, thinking about Bella's question more deeply, added. "Bella? You're not worried about Victoria, are you? "

"No! Of course not."

"Good, because there's no reason to. I love _you_ , Bella. _This_ —Victoria—it's business, that's all."

"I love you too," Bella said, reassured. They spoke for nearly an hour. Bella asked about his hotel, and Edward repeated Jose's description of it being a favorite with musicians and celebs and, for the first time, actually looked around his room—well, one-bedroom suite—overlooking the patio, when she asked him to describe it. "Sounds posh, Mr. Rock Star," Bella teased, and Edward, laughing, told her about the limousine at the airport, repeating Chez's comment about Aro sparing no expense. "Chez?" Bella questioned, and, so, Edward repeated their conversation and how much he reminded him of Lou. "You like him," Bella said.

"I do, and you will too," Edward replied, and then, noticing the time, reluctantly ended their conversation. "I have to go, Bella. I'll call tomorrow, and I'll be home soon. I love you."

At eight-fifteen, showered and changed, Edward left to meet Victoria. He found her, already seated at a table at Cavatina, the hotel's restaurant. Edward smiled, appreciating the name, for Cavatina, a musical term, means an unembellished song or melody. Victoria, Edward noticed as she stood to greet him, had changed out of the black, slim-fitting pants suit she'd worn earlier into a thigh-high emerald green dress. Her auburn hair, which had been tied back, flowed over her shoulders.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long," he greeted her.

"Only just got here" she smiled, and, then, when a waiter arrived to take their drink orders, requested a tequila cocktail.

"A light beer, thanks," Edward ordered.

"We're celebrating, Edward; live a little," Victoria, smiling, challenged.

"I'm good," he answered, addressing both her and the waiter who stood, waiting, apparently, for him to change his mind.

"Most musicians go for hard liquor," Victoria said when they were alone.

"Well, I'm not most musicians, and I prefer beer," Edward replied, slightly irritated by her goading.

Victoria smiled and changed the subject. "So, how're you feeling about today's meeting?"

Edward, glad of the opening, asked for clarification of some of the terms in the contract. "It's all standard stuff; nothing to be overly concerned about. Besides, like Mitch said, your lawyers will explain everything. They'll advise you and then just instruct them and have them contact our lawyers; let them sort out the details. You concentrate on your music."

"Okay," Edward, relieved, readily agreed. "My girlfriend's going to ask her Dad about someone I can talk to."

"Your girlfriend? Why's _she_ involved in your contract?"

"Bella's more than my girlfriend; she's also my best friend, and I trust her more than anyone," Edward said, and Victoria, although displeased, hid it well.

"Just remember what I said. Trust me, Edward, I've seen too many careers fail because of girlfriends or boyfriends."

"I appreciate the advice, Victoria, but I don't have anything to worry about. Anyway, what happens next?"

"I'll introduce you to one of our producers tomorrow, who'll show you the studios, and I'll let you have a copy of the contract like Mitch promised. Then, as soon as you've signed, we can start planning your debut album. You'll need backing artists, of course, and that's why I'm going to introduce you some guys at Lure after dinner.

"Lure?"

"A nightclub," Victoria said, her red-painted lips curved in a provocative smile. "Welcome to Los Angeles."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **This chapter is late. I apologize for not sticking to my promised schedule, but RL is still teetering on the brink of being out of control. I feel like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland—rushing about, saying, I'm late, I'm late! Fitting, perhaps for the season?**

 **The next chapter (which was meant to be part of this one, except that it grew and grew until, finally, I was forced to cut it in two). Anyway, it's written and only needs editing, a task, I hope to complete tomorrow or the next day. When I'm done, I'll post immediately and hope it compensates for my tardiness.**

 **In closing, I'd like to welcome and thank all the new readers who've joined the Unplugged train over the past week or so. I have my friend Coppertop and the ladies at the fabulous** blogsite **,** smutslutsanddangwhores **, to thank for the extra following.**

 **If you haven't already checked out their website, do so. They have some fabulous recs.**

 **Until next time, everyone; take care.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Twilight characters remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. All other, original, characters, story, and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged – Chapter Five**

Dozens of people were gathered outside the club when they arrived. Edward wondered whether they'd get in, but Victoria, ignoring the long line, the ensuing glares and disgruntled comments, grabbed his hand and led him straight to the doorman, who greeted her by name and unhooked the barrier rope. Inside, several people waved or smiled at her, and the usher, who led them to their table overlooking the dance area, also greeted her familiarly

"Do you come here often?" Edward asked.

"It's popular with celebrities and many of our artists like hanging out here," Victoria explained nonchalantly. Moments later three men, two dark-haired, one, wearing a narrow-brimmed fedora, led by another with chin-length, dark blond hair approached.

Victoria introduced the fair-haired man as James Nelson, a guitarist, the fedora-wearer as Liam Turner, a drummer, and the, other as Alec Dodd, keyboardist. The trio, Edward, discovered, had played backup on many artists' recordings and tours. The men, all musicians, fell into easy conversation, discussing instruments, music genres, and their experiences. James, Edward learned, could easily swap between bass and rhythm guitar. The pair debated the role of a bassist in a band and compared notes on famous songs recorded without a bass line. "Had It With You by the Stones," James said. "When Doves Cry," Edward countered, "and I don't think The Doors used bass in a lot of their songs, and The Beatles didn't always—Eleanor Rigby and Yesterday, for instance." Victoria watched and listened, a smile, reminiscent of a satisfied ringmaster observing his performers, worked its way across her face.

Talk flowed non-stop, and so, it seemed, did the alcohol. James drank like a fish, his preference being bourbon or tequila on the rocks. The more he consumed, the more uninhibited he became. When Victoria declined to dance with him, he wandered across to a nearby table of women and convinced two to accompany him onto the dance floor. James waved, urging Edward to join in, but he shook his head. After several songs, during which James made quite a spectacle of himself and his partners, he led them off the dance floor and, collecting another woman from their table, returned to his.

At one-thirty, when their waiter called last drinks, and James ordered another round, boisterously suggesting they find another place to 'party on', Edward decided to leave. Another drink, he knew, and he'd slide from teetering on the brink into drunkenness. He leaned in to speak in Victoria's ear to be heard over the music and the chattering of the other women at their table.

"I'm leaving," he said.

"I'll come with you," she offered.

"Stay. I'll grab a cab."

"No; I should go too, Jose's waiting," she insisted and reached for her bag.

"Vic—to—ria," James slurred as she stood. "Dance with me." He pushed Maya, the blonde practically straddling his lap, aside.

"You should go home," Victoria told him, avoiding his attempt to grab her wrist.

"What? Found someone you think'll be more famous?" he asked, glancing at Edward, his tone belligerent.

"You're drunk, or stoned, or both; go home and get sober. You have a big day tomorrow," Victoria's returned acidly.

"You're a conniving bitch," James sneered.

"You're drunk, so I'll overlook that this time. Remember, though, there are plenty of others just as or more talented than you," she snapped and looked at Liam meaningfully. He nodded, leaned forward and, grasping James' shoulder, whispered to him.

"Come on, Edward," Victoria invited and walked away.

"See you guys, "Edward said goodbye "Sure," Alec answered, smiling, and Liam lifted his hand in a farewell salute. James, groping Maya, didn't respond.

In the car, Victoria asked Edward what he thought of the three. "I'd like to hear them play," he said, and then, after a moment's thought; "does James always get that drunk? Does he have a drug problem?"

"James is a bit wild—no worse than many others in the business, but he's a great guitarist, and his drinking hasn't ever affected his performances," she assured him. Edward, not interested in either James or Victoria's private lives, and too buzzed to bother, didn't ask about their parting exchange. Nor did he point out that James' lewd comments about the women on the dance floor or his public groping of a woman he barely knew, could be considered more than 'a bit wild.'

Outside his hotel, as Edward turned to leave the limo, Victoria leaned across, placed her hand on Edward's knee, and kissed his cheek. "See you later," she said. Edward, dismissing the over-friendly gesture as a Hollywood affectation, didn't think anything of it.

He woke, his head fuzzy, when his alarm went off and cursed himself for having drunk too much. He'd stuck to beer, despite Liam, Alec, and especially James' encouragement to swap to tequila or bourbon, but, in keeping up with them, he'd consumed more than he normally would. Getting only five hours sleep, especially after the little he and Bella had had the night before, didn't help. Sustained by a long shower and breakfast accompanied by copious amounts of coffee, Edward, his Martin in hand, jumped a cab and made his way to Arrius.

There, Victoria, after explaining his schedule for the day, led him to the recording studios and introduced Edward to Jason Wilkes, the sound engineer Chez had mentioned.

"Ever been in a studio?" he asked Edward when they were alone.

"Never. I've dreamed of it, though."

"You know, in the past, record labels used to own studios. These days most use independents, but Aro insisted that Arrius has one, and he wants to be among the best. So, we have three studios with the best equipment and some of the best technicians in the business on staff."

"Do only Arrius' artists use the studios?" Edward asked.

"Nah! Lots of Indie musicians record here. It's a great way for A&R to spot potential talent," Jason said and led the way forward. "This is our main studio, and this, here," he opened the door to a glass-fronted room, "is the live studio," he continued, pointing to an array of microphones and mic stands.

"Those," he indicated the similar but smaller cubicles on either side, "are isolation booths, used for loud instruments like drums and electric guitars, so they don't drown out others—and those two, over there, we use for vocals and acoustic guitar performances." He ushered Edward into another, larger room, overlooking the others. It housed an enormous sound console and also two separate seating areas, each with a leather sofa and two armchairs. "This is the control room, my domain. Here," he sat in one of the chairs at the console, "is where I mix and fine-tune recordings—often with a producer.

Edward asked and then listened, rapt, as Jason explained and demonstrated the process. _This_ , he decided, was a side of music he definitely wanted to learn more about.

Two hours later, James, Liam, and Ian arrived, and Jason left the musicians in a smaller studio where instruments, including a drum kit for Liam, had been set up. There, Edward, listened as they played, and then, when they asked, performed some of his songs. Other than playing with Lou and informally jamming with Jake, Edward had always performed solo but had been pleasantly surprised and impressed when James, then Alec, and, finally, Liam joined him. They picked up and improvised on his riffs and licks quickly.

Victoria, who'd entered, waited until a break in play before speaking. "Edward, when you're ready, can we talk?"

"We're just about done here—right guys?" he checked.

"Sure," James said. "We'll catch up later. Vic can probably get us into The Sayers Club." He winked at her.

"Come with me," Victoria said, unsmiling, but her cold demeanor didn't bother James.

"Anytime," he replied suggestively but didn't move.

"Edward, I'll meet you in my office down the hall. Liam will show you. Alec?" She tilted her head, indicating that he, too, should leave. Edward packed up his Martin and followed Liam and Alec out.

"She's probably ripping him a new one," Liam laughed as he escorted Edward to Victoria's office.

"Do they have history?" Edward asked.

"Who the hell knows with those two," Liam shrugged. "This is Vic's office. Maybe I'll see you later?"

"I'm not sure what Victoria's planned, but I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Well, I'm sure we'll see you sometime. I've enjoyed hanging and jamming with you, Edward."

"You too," Edward said, fist-bumping Liam's outstretched hand.

Victoria entered a short time later and smiled at Edward, who'd made himself comfortable on the red leather sofa. "You sounded great in there," she said.

"It was a good session; I enjoyed jamming with the guys. James and Alec have good voices," he answered.

"They have, but neither has the raspy soulfulness you can inject into yours when you want to, and they certainly don't have your music or songwriting abilities. You make a good band, though."

"I've never seen myself as part of a group, Victoria. I've always wanted to explore and make _my_ music. Besides, I know James, maybe even Alec, wants to write and perform their own songs, and our styles are different."

"Edward, even solo artists need and have backing musicians. Playing in pubs is different to recording and performing in big venues for thousands of fans. Even in a group, the guys will still be supporting _you_. You'll be the driving force behind the music," Victoria said before changing the subject to discuss his time in the studio.

"Everyone who's heard them likes your songs. We'll need to decide which, if any, could go on the album. How many have you written?"

"I've been writing since I was fourteen. Some of it's total shit, but I think there's at least twenty I'd be proud to record."

"That sounds promising. You, the producer, Mitch, and I will need to listen to everything and decide which ones make the cut. We'll need about twelve good songs, with at least two or three that have the potential to make it into the charts. A hit single is the best way to create awareness and hype for an album."

They talked about the need for a concept for the album, discussed production, cover design, and marketing processes at length, and before Edward realized, it was five-thirty. "If you don't have anything else to discuss, I should go. I want to call Bella before it's too late in Philly."

"Here's a copy of your contract," Victoria said, her smile tight, and lifted a manila envelope from her desk.

"Have you said anything to the guys about forming a group?" Edward asked.

"Why; will it make any difference to your decision?" Victoria countered.

"No. I just wondered."

"I haven't mentioned it and won't until you've signed, but the guys aren't dumb, Edward. We don't usually get them involved with artists this early in discussions. Anyway, just think about it. I'll pick you up at nine to meet James and the others at The Sayers Club."

"Sure. What do you have planned for tomorrow before I leave?"

"Let's discuss that tonight; I still need to finalize some things with Mitch. Do you want me to get Sandy to arrange a car?" she asked before he could press.

"I'll just ask her to call me a cab."

"If there's a driver available, let him take you, Edward," Victoria insisted, and Edward nodded, reaching for the envelope.

"See you later," he said and left.

In his hotel room, he dialed room service, ordered a hamburger and a beer. While waiting for his food, he phoned Bella. She didn't answer, so Edward left a message explaining that he didn't, yet, know when he'd be flying home but that he'd call in the morning. "It's late there already, and I don't know what time I'll get back. I'm going to a club to listen to live music with Victoria and some musicians I met last night. I love you; talk soon," he said and hung up.

Edward sat on the sofa and started reading the contract. It began, _This contract (hereinafter referred to as the "Agreement") between Edward Cullen (hereinafter referred to as the "Artist") and_ Arrius _Records Incorporated (hereinafter referred to as the "Company")._ Edward took a moment to absorb the words. Even now, seeing his name on a recording contract, he found it almost impossible to believe. He thought of Elizabeth and Lou, how thrilled they would have been to see him achieve what they'd, once, hoped for themselves.

He skimmed through the list of definitions before concentrating on the first clause in the agreement. He nodded as he read, _'The term of this contract will consist of the period it takes the Artist and the Company to produce, distribute and effectively promote three (3) albums. Production of the first must commence within ninety days of the signing of the Agreement and each, subsequent, recording, must be undertaken within eighteen (18) months of the album preceding it.'_

Satisfied that the words reflected his understanding of Aro's offer, he skipped to the clause marked, Royalties. There, in the last paragraph, he read, _'The balance of such royalties, if any, shall be allocated and distributed between Company and Artist in the following proportion: 88% (Eighty-eight Percent) to Company; 12% (Twelve Percent) to Artist_

Edward frowned. He hadn't realized that the twelve percent Mitch mentioned would be based on _net_ and not _total_ royalties. He re-read the clause, slowly and diligently, and then, having digested the information, the seemingly disproportionate split of eighty-eight and twelve percent, still shocking to Edward, didn't seem quite so outrageous. Arrius, the agreement stipulates, is entitled to recover 'agreed production costs' from royalties, _but_ , it also states that, if his records don't earn enough royalties to cover costs, then Edward, will not be held liable.

Edward realized that Arrius—any record label—was, in effect, taking a gamble with new artists like him. Their decisions are, undoubtedly, based on expertise, but still, all the knowledge and experience in the world doesn't give an ironclad guarantee of success. 'Let them have the lion's share,' he thought, 'I'd rather they face the risk of not recovering their costs than me having to pay them.' What Edward wasn't sure about was if twelve percent was, indeed, the 'great deal' Mitch and Victoria claimed it is. He resolved to find out and made a note on the document to check it with his lawyer—when he got one.

Next, Edward turned to Sections C4 and C7—referenced in the royalty clause—to understand what 'agreed production costs'mean. The first, C4, under the heading 'Costs', is, essentially, a list of expenses, including descriptions like, 'recording, production, and promotion, including artist's travel, hotel, meal costs, cash advances, and other genuine expenses relating to the Artist'.

C7, 'Additional Musicians', states that Arrius will provide and pay for 'sufficient and competent' musicians to perform the songs as arranged by the Artist and Producer' _._

Three things struck Edward when reading those clauses. The first was the realization that Arrius' goal was to recover every cent spent on producing and promoting his music. The term, 'no such thing as a free lunch', Edward realized, was fact, not fallacy when dealing with record companies.

His second thought had been fleeting, of little consequence, but he couldn't help wondering, should he sign the contract, if Arrius would claim the cost of this trip from future royalty earnings? It wouldn't bother him if they did, but, if that were the case, he now understood why Victoria didn't seem bothered about expenses. The first class air tickets, the hotel suite, the limos, even dinner and drinks; he would, most probably, end up paying for all of it.

The third matter, however, _did_ worry Edward, because it involved James, Liam, and Alec and his ongoing debate with Victoria about backing musicians versus a band. The contract explicitly states that Arrius will pay for other musicians for recording and producing the albums. It doesn't mention permanent band members, or live performances, or promotional tours. Confused, Edward noted those concerns as well and continued reading, stopping only when the door buzzer sounded.

He asked the waiter to place his food on the coffee table, thanked, and tipped him and then returned to the sofa, where he ate as he read. He perused the contract twice more before, satisfied, he stood. The language, due to legalese, was annoyingly convoluted, but Edward felt he understood the implications. Checking the time, he wandered into the bathroom to shower. At eight-fifty-five, he left his room to wait for Victoria in the lobby. Edward smiled when seeing Chez. "Edward, my man," he greeted him jovially. "How's things?"

"Great, Chez, thanks. What about you?"

"Well, I'm good but not as good as you, I bet. Word is, you've been offered a deal?"

"Yeah," Edward said, "I got lucky."

"Aro only signs people he thinks will make it; so, more'n luck involved. Just make the most of it."

"I will; thanks," Edward said as they neared the limo. He stopped Chez from opening the door for him. "We're friends, remember. No need for that," he said before ducking his head and entering the limo where Victoria waited.

The night was and almost identical reenactment of the one before except that Edward, engrossed in the live music, lost count of the many rounds of drinks Victoria ordered. Subsequently, he drank more than he did the night before and much, much more than he normally would.

At two a.m., closing time, Edward swayed on his feet as they followed James and the gang, accompanied by another trio of women, out. Victoria wrapped an arm around Edward's waist. "I'm okay," he protested, shrugging her off. "I'm not sure you are," she said, not loosening her grip. Chez, waiting by the limo and watching the exchange, moved quickly. "Let me," he said and, ignoring Victoria's protest, wrapped Edward's arm around his shoulder, walked him to the limo, and settled him inside.

"Where to? " Chez, glancing in the rearview mirror, asked Victoria.

"His hotel; I'll have to help him upstairs."

"Y'all closer. A'll drop you off first and take care o' him," he said, ignoring her frown.

"Don' need help," Edward slurred.

"We're friends; friends help one another," Chez said. "Thanks, friend," Edward mumbled, slumping further into his seat. He barely heard Victoria's surly, "see you in the morning," as she exited.

He woke, dressed except for his belt, socks, and shoes, feeling dreadful—worse even than when he'd woken the day before. "How the hell do James and the others do it?" he wondered because, from his sketchy memories, he remembered that James had, again, been shit-faced. Liam and Alec, although more subdued than their friend, had also been pretty wasted. 'Like me,' Edward thought as he vaguely recalled Chez helping him to his room and onto his bed. Consumed with embarrassment, he swore to be more vigilant in the future.

"Fuck!" Edward muttered when, thinking of Bella, he realized that Victoria had, again, managed to avoid discussing his departure. "Did you read the contract?" she'd asked when, on the way to the club, he'd mentioned leaving. There, seated at their table, he'd raised the subject, and she'd said, "this isn't the place to discuss that. We'll do it in the car going back."

He spat another expletive when remembering just how liberally Victoria had, then, plied them all with alcohol. Sighing, he dialed Bella.

"Hi," she answered immediately, and Edward, despite his thumping head, smiled.

"Hey," he said. "Sorry I didn't call last night—"

"No problem," Bella cut him off. "So, are you leaving today?"

"Umm…about that. I didn't have a chance to talk to Victoria last night. I'm meeting her this morning; I'll do it then."

"Is there a problem?"

"No, Bella; there isn't. I just keep getting sidetracked by her asking about the contract, or recording, or something else. I promise, though, I won't get diverted again."

"I'm not complaining, Edward. I miss you, that's all. Did you get a copy of the contract?"

"I miss you too, so much…and I did get it. I read it before going out last night. Everything seems pretty straightforward, but I do have some questions. Did you get a chance to talk to your Dad?"

"I did; when he called last night. He knows someone, and he'll contact him as soon as he's back."

"Thanks," Edward said. "Tell me what you've been doing?" They talked for half an hour before Edward excused himself. True to his word, he raised the issue about leaving with Victoria immediately on entering her office. "I want to go home tonight," he said when she'd offered him a seat.

"Edward, we agreed you'd stay until we settled on a production timeline."

"No, Victoria. We agreed I'd visit LA, meet Aro and Mitch, and tour Arrius' studios to get acquainted with the company. I've done that, and I'm grateful and thrilled with Aro's offer, but I've met my obligations. I have a life and things I need to deal with back home. When I get there, I'll have a lawyer check the contract, and, if we're happy, I'll sign and return it to you. _Then_ , as you keep reminding me, we can start preproduction."

"Listen, Edward, I tried to sort this out without telling you, but Aro wants you to sign before you leave. He doesn't usually make an offer after just one meeting, so it's not a good idea to keep him guessing if you'll accept or not. There are other artists we could sign, and, although he wants you, he probably thinks you'll change your mind when you're back home."

"I won't change my mind, but I'm not going to commit to anything without a lawyer checking the contract!" Edward, irked, replied. "Let me speak to Aro; I'm sure he'll understand when I explain."

"You don't know him like I do. Trust me; Aro won't back down—he never does once he's set his mind on something.

"Look," she cajoled, seeing Edward's jaw clench. "I _want_ you to get a lawyer's opinion. It's a stipulation in the contract, remember?" she challenged at his cynical look. The contract did, indeed, contain a clause advising him to consult a lawyer. Seeing Edward's indecision, Victoria continued. "There's a way to satisfy both your needs and Aro's demands. I know someone; he's young and smart. I can arrange a meeting between you and him."

Edward thought for a moment. "Today?"

"I'll try," Victoria said. "Why don't you go and see Jason? He's listened to the CD you gave me and wants to discuss options with you."

"Okay, but let me know as soon as you hear from that lawyer."

"Sure," Victoria said, waving him off. She entered Jason's control booth twenty minutes later. "Drew's tied up today, but he can meet you here or at your hotel tomorrow," she said.

"Damn!" Edward exclaimed, thinking about disappointing Bella.

"It's only one more day," Victoria reasoned. "Isn't it better to have things finalized before you leave?"

"Make the meeting at my hotel for as early as he can in the morning, and, can we catch up when I'm through here? I have some things to discuss with you."

"Sure; why don't we have lunch? I'll show you our canteen; the food's good." Edward nodded his agreement before turning back to Jason.

. . . . .

"Victoria emailed me a copy of the contract. I've read it, and there's nothing that stands out as being particularly unusual, but we'll review everything in detail. I'll address any issues you may have then, but, first, I'd like to raise some issues I have with certain clauses," Drew said.

Skinny and earnest, the lawyer, had arrived right on nine o'clock, the designated time, and introduced himself as Drew (short for Andrew he'd informed Edward) Benson. Edward, who, despite suffering from lack of sleep, had woken feeling surprisingly good. He'd had a quick shower and breakfast and had been waiting, anxious to get started, when Drew rang his door buzzer.

Edward had spent the night before with Liam and Alec. He'd been surprised when, meeting the guys at the pre-arranged venue, he found James missing. When he asked, Liam said, "He had other plans. I'm surprised Victoria's let you out of her sight, though."

Edward laughed. "She's at a business dinner. I didn't expect her to spend all her free time with me; I'm sure she has plenty of clients to manage and deals to make," Edward responded easily. "I'm glad it's just us. I don't think I could survive another night of her brand of hospitality or James' appetite for partying." Edward had enjoyed himself; more, perhaps, than the previous nights' outings because Casey's Irish Pub, Alec's choice, reminded him of the venues he played in Philly. There, they listened to an innovative Indie band and then played pool until closing time. Edward had a good buzz going, but, unlike the night before, had been far from drunk.

"Which clauses?" Edward asked Drew.

"Three, to be exact. The first deals with the use of name and image. It grants the Company the rights to your professional name or names for marketing purposes. I don't think it's unreasonable that you insist on maintaining the rights to any professional names. Arrius will refuse, of course, arguing that they need the rights to effectively manage the recording, distribution, and marketing of your music. And their claim would be valid, but the requirement is easily addressed by you assigning the use of any professional names to them for the term of the agreement. To provide Arrius with further assurance, I suggest we include a stipulation that guarantees you won't grant or allow any of the listed names to be used by any party other than the Company.

"I like your proposal. I really don't like the idea of signing over my name to someone else, but I thought it was standard practice," Edward said.

"It is, generally, but there are exceptions—mostly big names, of course, but I don't see why you can't be one of the few. As I said, it's not an unreasonable demand, and I think we should at least try.

"Anyway, I'm not sure how advanced you are in planning your career, but, if you haven't already, you need to consider potential professional names. You may want to stick with your legal name, and that's fine. Whatever you decide, we'll need to include in the agreement.

"My second suggestion concerns royalties. I feel the words surrounding the Company's right to recover costs could be open to interpretation. I'd like to tighten the descriptions to be more unambiguous. For instance, 'costs incurred in the production of the Recordings', and 'costs incurred in the production of master recordings and the advancement of the Artist's career,' is simply too loose. The more comprehensive and detailed we can make the list, the less potential there is for future disputes."

"That all sounds good; thanks, Drew. I have one major issue," Edward said and explained his conversations with Victoria about James, Liam, and Alec. "She's pushing this idea of me forming a band with them, but the contract doesn't mention a band; it only refers to paying for additional musicians and only for recording sessions. What does that mean? Does it mean musicians in addition to James and the guys? If so, where do they fit in and how do they get paid?" Edward asked, dragging a hand through his hair. "Victoria's argument makes a lot of sense, but still, I can't help feeling uncomfortable with the direction she seems hell-bent on following."

"Your concerns are justifiable and definitely need to be addressed. Hopefully, you can reach some compromise. Why don't I make an appointment for us to meet with Victoria?"

"Good," Edward said relieved and pleased by Drew's responses. "I want to fly home tomorrow; can we get this sorted by then?"

"I'll do my best. First, we should go through the rest of the contract; then, we need to resolve the issue of the backing musicians with Victoria. When we've done that, I'll contact Arrius' lawyers, present our concerns, and start negotiations," Drew said.

He and Edward spent most of the rest of the day hashing out the issue of backing artists with Victoria. She maintained her belief that Edward, as part of a band, would be more marketable. Edward bluntly refused. Drew, finally, intervened. "There's no reason why the backing musicians can't form and be marketed as a band, while Edward retains his autonomy."

"That defeats my purpose," Victoria argued.

" _Your's_ , not mine," Edward countered.

"It doesn't—not if it's only for marketing purposes as you claim," Drew reasoned with Victoria. "There are precedents—Springsteen and The E Street Band to name just one," he said, stopping her protest. "Sign them under a separate contract. Pay them salaries instead of royalties— doing that will cap your expenses if that's a potential problem. Such an arrangement won't impact on Edward's current contract, and you'll still meet your objectives."

"That suits me," Edward said, impressed by Drew's thinking, and then, seeing Victoria's obstinate expression, added, "I won't sign if we can't agree on this."

"Fine," she snapped irritably. "I'll take it to Mitch and get back to you."

"Soon—like within the next couple of hours," Edward pushed. "In case you've forgotten, I want to go home."

Victoria left without answering. Inwardly, she seethed, wondering how, having so vigorously defended her proposal to package Edward being part of a band with both Mitch and Aro—promising them she could 'make it happen'—she could retract without losing face. Victoria had also made promises to James, but that fact didn't bother her. James was malleable.

She'd counted on Edward and Drew's ignorance and inexperience with the industry to achieve her goals. She'd thought Drew susceptible, completely under her feminine spell. 'Fucking, nerdy traitor," she fumed when realizing how badly she'd miscalculated his astuteness or attraction to her. 'And Edward,' she thought, 'just my rotten luck that the first, real hot-as-hell talent I spot is a damned smart pre-med student.'

Victoria, visiting that pub in Philly, had immediately recognized Edward's extraordinary talent. But talent doesn't always equal success. Victoria had seen and met many talented artists; some had achieved moderate, even significant, success. In Edward, though, she'd detected more than talent. He had that indefinable 'x' factor— that elusive, mysterious _something_ that, when combined with exceptional talent, has the capability of rocketing its recipients to the stratosphere of success and fame. Victoria viewed Edward as her stepping-stone to achieving her own, lofty career goals. She also found him incredibly attractive, and, because of his obsession with a damned girlfriend, seemingly unattainable. Victoria had always enjoyed the chase, and Edward Cullen, in her view, is a challenging and potentially highly prized catch.

Victoria presented Mitch with Edward's ultimatum. She didn't use that term, of course; she's much too cunning for that, but she did convince him that if they didn't compromise, they'd miss out on a very talented and potentially lucrative artist. When he questioned her about-face, she said, now that she'd spent more time with Edward, heard him play, and listened to Jason's opinion, she'd 'thought about it more deeply'. Victoria even quoted the Springsteen example—without crediting Drew, of course. Mitch granted his permission to proceed.

Edward and Drew, meanwhile, had returned to Drew's office to draft a response to Arrius' lawyers. "You have to decide on the names you want to include in the contract," Drew reminded Edward.

"I only want to add one name— Masen," he said. "That's the only name I want associated with my music."

"Masen's great, but why choose it?"

"It was my mother's name," Edward replied. Elizabeth _had_ inspired his choice, but what he didn't reveal was that Carlisle's threat to disown him, his total lack of support, had been the catalyst for the name change.

Edward and Drew met with Arrius's lawyers and negotiated for hours until, finally, they reached agreement. Edward received a revised contract late the following day, but Mitch, Arrius' designated signatory, was unavailable to sign. Edward spent another day in the studio with Jason and his last night in LA with Chez at a blues club. "Thanks fo' celebrating with me," Chez said. "There's no one else I wanted to spend time with tonight," Edward assured him. He learned about Chez' life, his wife of twenty years, Daphne, and Edward told Chez about Bella. "Can' wait to meet her," Chez said. "You will," Edward promised.

The next morning, on his sixth day in LA, he and Mitch signed the contract. Victoria witnessed their signatures. Edward flew home that afternoon. Elated at his success, he was anxious to be reunited with Bella. He looked forward to seeing Alice and Esme too but dreaded the inevitable confrontation with his father. Edward pushed that last, negative thought aside. He'd worry about dealing with Carlisle later. For now, his overwhelming need was to be with Bella and celebrate his success.

What Edward didn't realize, then, was that there were still pitfalls and loopholes in the agreement—caveats that Arrius would exploit, and which, Edward would live to regret.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **It's been (humorously) pointed out that I misspelled the name of the blog site mentioned in the last chapter. My apologies; here it is again:** smutslutsandangstwhores blogspot **com. I copied and pasted it directly from the delightfully wicked pixie's email, so if it's wrong, don't come snickering back to me! You know who you are!**

 **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I generally reply right away, but I thought it best to get this chapter posted first. It's late now (again). It's just gone 1.54 a.m. in Sydney, but I promise to answer reviews tomorrow.**

 **Thank you also to those readers who have recently chosen to follow and/or favorite this story or me. As always, I'm both humbled and delighted.**

 **Take care all. Until next time.**

 **x**

 **.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged – Chapter Six**

"Are you and Dad going to fight again?" Alice asked from Edward's bedroom door.

"What makes you think we're going to fight?"

"I heard him and Mom talking while you were away. _Are_ you moving to LA?"

"For a while…at least 'til I've recorded my album."

"So you and Dad will be fighting again!" she said, her voice stressed and accusatory.

"Probably; but you do know I don't like arguing with him, don't you?"

"Sometimes it's hard to tell; you fight a lot—'specially lately."

"That's because he doesn't approve of me."

"That's not true, Edward; Dad loves you."

"Maybe, but he doesn't approve of me… of what I want to do with my life, anyway."

"Do _you_ love Dad?"

"I do, but I don't always _lik_ e him, Alice. It's too complicated to explain," Edward added, seeing her confusion. Alice would never understand: how could she? Her relationship with their father doesn't carry the same baggage his does. He's never blamed her, and, although he'd often longed for the close bond she shared with Carlisle, Edward didn't resent Alice for it.

"Where will you live?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, but I'll let you know, okay? And we'll keep in touch. I'll call you, and you can phone me anytime."

"Are you coming home again?"

"I'll be back, Alice, but I probably won't be living here. That depends on Dad, I guess."

"Try not to fight, Edward. I hate it, and I want you to live here."

"'I'll try, Shrimp." Edward ruffled Alice's hair as he left. That's all he could promise—that he'd try—because, ultimately, the outcome of their discussion would depend on Carlisle's reaction to his news. Although, based on his response to Edward's musical aspirations so far, Edward felt pretty sure of the result. Carlisle and Esme hadn't been home when he arrived, and Edward had been grateful for the reprieve because, after the long and eventful days in LA, he'd been tired, too damned tired to deal with Carlisle. All Edward wanted was to see and spend time with Bella. And, so, after showering and eating dinner with Alice and Diane, that was where he'd been headed when Alice turned up at his bedroom door.

The sight of Bella, lying on the daybed, waiting for him in the tree house, brought a smile to Edward's face. He sighed, almost in relief, as he shed his shoes and stretched his body alongside hers. Bella threaded her fingers through his hair and drew him in for a kiss. "Took you long enough," she whispered, her lips barely touching his.

"I'm sorry…" he said, but she silenced him with a passionate kiss.

"I missed you—so fucking much," Edward murmured when they came up for air. "Need you."

"Missed you too," Bella answered, fumbling with his jeans.

Later, sated, they cuddled as Edward relayed the events that led to him signing Arrius' contract. "Drew seemed to know what he was doing, and I didn't see any sense in waiting—I wanted to get home," he said.

"Dad's guy could still look at it," Bella suggested.

"What good would it do?" Edward asked. "Even if he finds something, it's too late to do anything about it."

"Wouldn't knowing help?"

"I don't think so," Edward replied after a moment's thought.

"What happens next?"

"I need to review my songs, choose any I think good enough to record, and send them to LA. I may have to make a quick trip to discuss them, but I don't have to be back full time until we start recording in three months. Victoria wasn't happy, but I insisted; I wanted time for us, and I need to deal with things at home and also Penn."

"Thank you," Bella said, tightening her arm around his waist.

"No need for thanks, baby; I don't want to be away from you either. I'll try to get home as often as possible, and I'm hoping you'll visit whenever you can."

"I've said I would, and I mean it, Edward. We'll make it work."

"I know," he said, still frowning.

"What's wrong?" she asked, lightly scratching his stubbled jaw.

"I'm not looking forward to telling my dad."

"It can't get any worse than it's already been."

"You're probably right, except, he probably _will_ throw me out this time."

"You could stay with us until you move to LA."

"Thanks, but that wouldn't work. Your dad will flip at the thought of us sleeping in the same house. God, if he knew what we did here—"

Bella giggled. "He'll get over it. He knows it's only a matter of time before we move in together; besides, Mom will deal with him."

"I'm about to upset everyone in my family, let's not cause trouble in yours, Bella. Jake will probably let me crash with him for a while."

"But that's so far from here."

"It's not that far; we've just been spoiled by living this close— having this," Edward glanced around him fondly. "To me, this will always be _our_ place, and nothing could keep me away."

"Yeah? You say that now, Mr. Rock Star," Bella breathed in his ear. "Wait 'til you've stayed in a few more fancy hotels; _then_ tell me this is still your favorite place."

"It always will be because you're here," he said, rolling her onto her back.

"Because of this," she asked as he kissed her neck, a hand skimming her breast.

"Because of _you,_ " Edward answered, sucking gently on a nipple. Bella let out a soft moan. He released her flesh with a soft 'plop' and raised his head, smiling seductively. "I'm not complaining that these just happen to be attached to you." He palmed her breasts and rolled both nipples between thumb and forefinger. Tugging and then elongating them, his smile widened in satisfaction and pleasure as she emitted an erotic groan.

"And this," Edward said his hands roaming over her flat belly, the gentle curve of her hips. He stroked her creamy thighs, "and these." His hands continued their path, moving closer and closer to her eager, heated core, and then, reaching the apex, stopped, just when Bella anticipated his touch— _there_.

"Edward…." She raised her pelvis, begging for his attention.

"What? You don't believe I think you're special?" he challenged, his voice smooth, seductive. His body, already aroused, hardened noticeably at the vision of Bella splayed so enticingly before him.

"Don't tease…" she complained, her full lips pouted adorably.

"But I _love_ teasing you, baby." Edward ran a slow, tantalizing forefinger over her sensitive flesh, "and I know you love it too. Let me remind you," he said, settling between her legs.

"Oh!" Bella gasped, tugging frantically at Edward's hair as he continued his slow, sensual assault on her body, reminding her of just how much she enjoyed his exquisite torture.

. . . . .

The next morning, coming downstairs, he found his family having breakfast. Despite Esme and Alice's cheerful 'good morning' in response to his, Edward noticed their underlying nervousness fed, no doubt, by Carlisle's muted greeting. "I left you bacon and pancakes in the warming oven," Esme said as Edward helped himself to coffee.

"Thanks, Es," he smiled his appreciation, stood to retrieve the plate and when he returned to the table, no one mentioned LA. Instead, Esme urged Alice to continue the story she'd been telling. Edward, thankful for the delay, ate in silence and spoke only when Carlisle set his napkin aside.

"Dad—" he said, "could I talk to you and Esme, please?"

Carlisle looked at him directly, possibly for the first time since Edward had sat down. "I need to leave shortly, Edward. I'm meeting Doctor Schaeffer at the club," he answered and sat back expectantly in his chair.

"I won't need long," Edward said, determined to face the inevitable. "Could we talk in your office?" he asked, wanting to spare Alice the fallout. Carlisle, stood, an indication of his acquiescence.

"Esme?" Edward turned to his stepmother. "Sure, sweetheart," she answered and smiled encouragingly as Carlisle, his back ramrod straight, walked away.

"Edward—" Alice, her voice anxious, pleaded.

"I said I'd try, and I will," he assured her.

Esme linked her arm with Edward's as they walked. "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?" she asked.

"I have to do this, Esme. I've wanted it for so long, and this could be my only chance to find out if I can succeed."

Esme nodded, but the frown didn't leave her face. "Just… please, try not to get too upset by anything your dad says, sweetheart. His heart's in the right place, but he doesn't always know how to communicate his feelings." Edward didn't answer; he didn't say what was on the tip of his tongue—that Carlisle had had six years to find a way to _communicate_. Instead, he squeezed Esme's arm. "I'll try," he repeated because he loved his stepmother, and he knew his feelings were reciprocated. It's just that she loved Carlisle more, which is perfectly understandable and expected in Edward's view.

They reached Carlisle's office door—his _closed_ office door. 'So much for trying,' Edward thought and glanced at Esme. Her frown deepened. Edward raised his hand to knock, but Esme stopped him and opened the door more forcibly than necessary. The solid wood hit the wall with a resounding 'thunk'.

Carlisle shut himself in his office to buy time, even just a few moments, to prepare for what he knew would be disappointing news. He could tell by Edward's attitude, the set of his jaw when he entered the kitchen that he'd been prepared for a confrontation. Carlisle had correctly assumed that he'd been offered a record deal. How, Carlisle had wondered while listening to Alice, could he divert his son from this disastrous course? 'He's so damned bright; he could be an even better surgeon than me,' he'd thought, frustrated, but he had, at that stage, resolved not to overreact as Esme had accused him of doing in the past. He'd decided to calmly reason with Edward, but then, when learning about the signed contract, his good intentions had been dispelled like dust in the wind.

"How could you be so _stupid_?" he demanded, his voice scathing and then, not allowing Edward to respond, continued. "You have the potential to become a brilliant surgeon, but what do you do? You _toss it away_ for some foolish dream. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Esme tried to intervene, but Edward spoke before she could. "Wrong? _Wrong_?" He jumped up out of his chair. "That's how you've always seen me, isn't it, Dad—the unwanted child, doing the wrong things." Seeing Carlisle about to interrupt, he continued, his voice loud, thick with disgust. "Just so you know—well, you probably never will because you don't give a shit about what I think or listen to anything I say, but I'm going tell you anyway—for the _last_ _time_. I'm not chasing a _foolish_ dream; I'm doing what I've always wanted to…what I'm meant to do. I'm not signing with some two-bit company; Arrius represents some of the world's top artists, and I had a lawyer go over the contract. I thought you'd, at least, acknowledge that I've put some thought into it," he glared at his father, held a hand up, silencing whatever Carlisle wanted to say.

"Don't bother; you don't have to say it again. I'll be out of here— _for good_ —by the time you get back from hobnobbing with your doctor friends at your club!" he spat, referring to the Merion Golf Club, one of Philadelphia's most prestigious establishments of its kind.

Edward, his eyes tight, showing both anger and distress, left without revealing his plan to defer rather than drop out of his studies at Penn. He'd made the decision while discussing the matter with Bella. "It feels like the smart thing to do," he'd said when, having told her, she'd asked if he felt unsure about choosing music over medicine. Edward hadn't mentioned, although Bella had realized, of course, that Edward had hoped Carlisle would view his deferment as an acceptable compromise.

Edward found Alice waiting anxiously on the steps leading upstairs. Seeing his face, her eyes filled with tears. She leaped up and wrapped her arms around him in a death grip. "Don't go," she implored, and Edward swallowed, trying to ease the burning sensation, the lump stuck in his throat.

"I'll keep in touch," he said, gently extricating himself, and then, when Alice followed him, stopped her. "I need some time, okay?" She turned away dejectedly.

Meanwhile, back in Carlisle's office, Esme watched as her husband, his head bowed, tugged at his hair. She pushed back the sympathy she felt at his distress. "I don't think I've ever been this mad at you," she said. Carlisle raised his head. "Don't speak; you're going to listen to me for a change.

"You promised you'd hear Edward out; that you'd try to see his point of view. Why, _why_ are you so narrow-minded about this—what's so awful about being a musician? It's what Edward wants, Carlisle, doesn't that _matter_ to you?" she asked, exasperated yet pleading for enlightenment because, even knowing her husband's pigheaded tendencies, Esme failed to understand why he'd risk losing his son.

"It's a waste of his intellect," he answered, and she became more irate. Esme, who never raised her voice or cursed—in fact, she hardly, if ever, used words considered even mildly inappropriate—did so when replying.

"What the _hell_ makes you think it doesn't take intelligence to create music or other art forms? Edward's been blessed with more than one gift, Carlisle, and it's up to him, surely, to decide which damned one he wants to turn into a career? You can't force him to be someone or something he doesn't want to be."

"I'm not forcing him; I'm trying to guide him like my father did me!" Carlisle argued.

"He didn't just guide you; he coerced you." Esme could see Carlisle was about to disagree, so she cut him off. "Don't deny it, and you can't tell me you enjoyed the way he trampled your opinions—the way he still does. And now you're doing the same to Edward. I don't understand, exactly, why you didn't stand up to your father, but I suspect the fact that you _wanted_ to be a doctor featured heavily in your decision. Edward's not you, Carlisle; he doesn't want to be a doctor. He may or may not succeed at being a musician, but, either way, he deserves the opportunity to try, and he certainly doesn't deserve your attitude."

She stood, nearly toppling her chair in her anger. "If you let Edward leave without a single word of encouragement and without telling him you love him, you'll lose him—perhaps forever. Do you think you could live with _that_ for the rest of your life?"

Carlisle sighed the sound of the slammed door reverberating in his ears. He felt exhausted, mentally and physically. The cardio-thoracic unit lacked a surgeon and until a suitable candidate could be recruited, Carlisle, as department head, had taken up the lion's share of the slack. He'd also lost sleep worrying while Edward had been in LA. He'd hoped the trip would prove futile, that Edward, having been rejected, would finally settle into a medical or another suitable profession.

Much of what Esme had said had been true, but what he would have told her had she given him a chance—he grimaced at the memory of his usually loving and patient wife biting his head off. He wondered how long she'd take to calm down. 'Maybe if you'd shared what you learned over the past week she would have better understood,' his conscience taunted, but he dismissed the thought, using his and Esme's conflicting schedules as an excuse. Carlisle, searching online, had been horrified when discovering that over ninety percent of musicians make less than twenty thousand dollars a year. Many, the article he'd read had stated, are forced to work two or three jobs to survive.

'It's not as if he wants to be a classical pianist,' Carlisle thought derisively because, in his opinion, much of today's music is drivel. He considered the behavior of many so-called successful artists, abysmal—not that he followed the tabloids or even knew many of their names, but he is, however reluctantly, exposed to hospital gossip. 'My son's capable of more than that; he deserves more,' Carlisle thought, the memory of Edward's battered suitcase, it's paltry contents when they'd first met, a stark reminder of just how grim a musician's life can be. He also, honestly, believed, that Edward would be wasting his potential because he was smart, very smart. Learning came easily to Edward, easier than it had for Carlisle when he'd been studying, easier than it did for Alice then or would be when she got to college. Carlisle was stuck on that point—that Edward, as a musician, would not be maximizing his potential, and that, fundamentally, was the crux of the matter. It's why he failed to agree with Esme, why he chose to discount her advice. 'I'll let him stew. Maybe when he's experienced the reality of losing a comfortable home and a generous allowance he'll come to his senses,' Carlisle concluded and left to play golf.

Esme walked in the garden to cool off and then made her way to Edward's bedroom, where she found him packing.

"Edward, you don't have to leave," she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, I do," he said, shoving clothing into his bag.

" _This_ is your home, Edward, it always will be," she reasoned.

"Well, according to Dad, it's not. I'm not changing my mind, Esme."

"You can be as mulish as him, you know?" she smiled, trying to lighten his mood. "I don't expect you to change your mind, I just don't want our family to be broken, and I don't want you to feel abandoned. Carlisle didn't mean what he said—"

Edward cut her off, his voice, thick with emotion. "I can't deal with him anymore, Es."

"Just hang in there, Edward; leave Carlisle to me. This isn't just his home; he doesn't arbitrarily get to tell people to leave, especially not our children!"

"No; I've had enough, and I don't want to cause trouble between you two. I heard you slam his door," Edward said stopping her denial. "I'll be fine," he spoke more gently when her eyes filled with tears.

"Where will you go? Next door?" she asked hopefully.

"No; I'll probably stay with Jake until I leave for LA."

"So you'll be around for three more months?" Esme checked, hope sparking once more. 'A lot could happen in three months,' she decided, 'time enough to fix this rift.'

"I'll deposit some money into your account," she told Edward.

"No! " he replied, more vehemently than he'd meant to. He softened his tone. "I need to do this on my own; I'll get some gigs around town, and Arrius will pay me an advance when I get to LA. I'll manage. I _will_ , Esme," Edward insisted, brushing aside her argument.

He left the Cullen home with his guitar and his duffle bag, asking whether he could return for the rest of his things later. "I'll call you," he said and hugged his stepmother when she agreed. "I don't want to upset Alice anymore today. Tell her I'll be in touch? Maybe you, her, and I could have lunch or something occasionally?"

"I'll hold you to that," Esme said tearfully, and he left. She watched from his bedroom window as Edward walked across the lawn to the Swan property. Esme comforted herself with the thought that even if he decided never to contact his family again, Edward wouldn't be able to stay away from Bella. 'She'll be our link to him,' she thought.

. . . . .

Edward did move in with Jake, and he did, as he'd told Esme, pick up gigs in the city and spent the majority of his evenings and nights performing. On Fridays and Saturdays, Bella, free from college obligations, would, invariably, accompany him. For the first time since meeting Edward, she experienced his impact on audiences. She sang his praises, and Edward's chest swelled with pride and unbridled happiness. He felt comforted—validated—by her recognition of his talent and her support. Bella wanted Edward to invite Esme. "She can see for herself and convince your dad," she pleaded, but Edward refused, stating, again, that he didn't want to cause trouble in his parents' marriage.

During the day, he slaved away at his music. With Bella and Jake's input, he pared his existing songs down to fifteen and sent them to LA. He argued, sometimes heatedly, with Victoria who, almost on a daily basis after receiving them, insisted that Edward needed to fly to LA for a meeting. He won the battle, finally, by enlisting Jason's help. So, instead of him leaving Philadelphia, they utilized Face Time. Edward felt extremely relieved and proud when Mitch and Jason approved the songs for recording. "There's enough for the album. Victoria and I will discuss potential producers, and she'll keep you posted," Mitch informed him, and when, just before ending their session, he added, "Aro said to tell you they're fine songs," Edward grinned so wide, he nearly split his face.

Buoyed by the praise, Edward didn't rest on his laurels. He kept writing and composing, and, among the new songs, two stood out—one titled, 'Unapologetically Me' and the other, called 'Beautiful Home.' The first, with lyrics, which included,' I'm not you; I'm me—unapologetically me,' was, clearly, aimed at Carlisle, although Edward denied that fact when Jake questioned him. 'Beautiful Home, Edward unhesitatingly and proudly informed anyone who asked, "was inspired by my girlfriend, Bella."

He also kept his promises to Esme and Alice, and he met them for lunch or coffee most weekends. Carlisle and Edward didn't speak to or see each other for his remaining time in Philadelphia. Other than the time spent with his sister and stepmother, Edward spent every free moment with Bella. Many nights when visiting the Swans' home, the pair would say goodbye in view of her parents, and he'd leave and wait for Bella at what they called 'our place', where the young lovers would spend the rest of the night. Once, Edward mentioned that it was ridiculous, given their age, the longevity, and the seriousness of their relationship to keep sneaking around. "I'm ready to have this out with your Dad," he said, but Bella objected. "I'm not scared of him, Edward, and I'm not ashamed that we sleep together. I just don't want to share this place with anyone. It's _ours_ ," she explained, and he agreed wholeheartedly.

Soon, all too soon for both Bella or Edward, it was time for him to leave, and they found themselves, once more, saying goodbye at the airport.

"I love you," they assured each other every time their eyes met.

"You'll visit in a couple of weeks when I'm settled in," Edward said, reassuring himself as much as Bella. "I love you, baby." He gave her a searing kiss before dragging himself away. Bella, her heart heavy, watched as Edward strode further and further from her.

* * *

 **Thank you, as always, for reading. Thanks also to any new readers and those who've chosen, in the last few weeks, to follow or favorite this story.**

 **Fanfiction, as we all probably know by now, has been experiencing technical difficulties. I'm not sure how long it will take the administrators to fix the problem. These things can sometimes prove tricky. I'd be happy to send out alerts for future postings to anyone who contacts me at** shenda at shendapaul dot com **I won't, of course, do so if the Fanfiction issue is sorted.**

 **Take care, everyone. Until next time.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged – Chapter Seven**

Edward's days since returning to LA had been a whirlwind of activity, which started with a meeting with Mitch and Victoria soon after arrival. In that conference, Victoria presented a series of timetables—prerecording, recording, videotaping, distribution, and marketing. When he'd digested all of that, they'd discussed potential release dates.

"As you can see; we plan on releasing the lead single three months before the album," Mitch pointed out.

"Victoria mentioned the possibility of more than one—how'd that work?" Edward asked.

"We'll only drop a second if the first makes the charts. If that happens, we'll release it a month after the first to increase demand for the album. We could also, depending on sales, drop a third after the album to keep the momentum going," Mitch replied and then, checking that Edward had no further questions, asked. "So, you've decided on Masen as a professional name; right?"

"Yes," Edward confirmed.

Mitch nodded approvingly. "Then we should start using it immediately," he told both Edward and Victoria. "From now on, Edward Cullen will only be used in legal documents. Inside Arrius and to the rest of the world, you'll be known as Masen."

Edward agreed, more than happy with the connection to his mother and, of course, the message he was sending his father. He didn't regret his decision, but he did, at that moment, suffer the familiar tightening in his chest at the memory of his father's rejection. Like he'd done on numerous occasions before, Edward pushed those feelings aside. "What's next?" he asked instead.

"Time to meet your producer," Mitch said, glancing expectantly at Victoria, who left and returned with a wiry-looking man, Edward assessed to be in his late thirties or early forties, with short, dark hair, and black, horn-rimmed glasses.

"Steve Harris, meet Masen," Victoria said as Edward stood.

"Good meeting you," Steve shook Edward's hand. "I like what I've heard of your music," he said, and the two immediately became immersed in conversation about the songs.

"I'll let you get acquainted." Mitch patted Edward on the shoulder and then left.

"I've arranged a meeting with Jason," Victoria said, but Steve shook his head.

"I'd like to get to know Edward better and thought we'd grab a burger at Irv's."

"I'll get my bag," Victoria replied already turning away, but Steve stopped her.

"Vic, I meant Edward," he said.

"Sure," she smiled, but Victoria's eyes, when she left, betrayed her annoyance. Neither man noticed.

Tucking into his burger, which Edward swore was among the best he'd tasted, when Steve invited, he talked about his love of music. In turn, he asked about Steve's background in the industry, the artists he'd worked with. Edward expressed particular interest in the collaboration process between Steve and them and how it worked. "I just want to know what to expect—what you expect from _me_ ," he'd finally said.

"It's simple. I just want to let the world hear the very best of your music. All you have to do in that studio is give your best, " Steve replied, his words reassuring Edward because, ultimately, that was what he'd always wanted—to be the best musician he could be. He dreamed of success, of course, who didn't, but, primarily, Edward wanted to be a good musician and songwriter.

Later, he and Steve met Jason in the studio where they stayed until late that night. In fact, the men spent the next three days and a good part of those nights there, listening to and debating which of Edward's songs were the very best for inclusion on the album. The more time Edward spent with Jason and Steve, the more he liked them, and the more his respect for and trust in them grew. While the industry veterans educated Edward about tracking, mixing, and the music business in general, he impressed them with his musical knowledge, ability, and his willingness to explore suggestions—a change in tempo, a different chord, or phrasing a lyric. Edward, they'd soon learned, is a perfectionist and would do anything he thought would improve his performance.

Jason frequently called Steve 'Stacks', and when Edward, burning with curiosity, had eventually asked, "Why Stacks?" Jason laughed and answered, "Stacks of hits."

"Well, shit; that can only be good for me, right?" Edward grinned in return and very soon he, too, used the name.

Victoria had popped in frequently to check on progress and to add her opinion to discussions, and, by the end of that first week, they'd settled on the songs, fourteen in all, for recording. They'd even determined a rough tracklist. "We need a name," Victoria reminded Edward as they wrapped up. "I have some ideas, but I want to think about them some more," he said. What he'd meant was that he'd wanted to get Bella's opinion. She was, after all, his biggest supporter, and Edward trusted and relied on her input.

During that time, he'd called Bella each morning before leaving for the studio—the timing coincided with a break in her classes. They also spoke at night whenever he could take a break. Those conversations were often short due either to interruptions from Jason or Steve or because of the time difference between Los Angeles and Philadelphia. The couple had, however, texted several times a day, and even if either couldn't immediately respond, they continued the practice because, as Bella had said after Edward had repeatedly apologized, "It's fine. Of course, I wish you'd answer straight away, or that I could text back, but, at least, this way, we're letting the other person know we're thinking of them."

"How'd I get so lucky?" Edward asked after saying he loved her.

"How did _I_?" Bella answered. "And I love you too."

That same Friday night, as they left the studio and just as Edward entered a waiting cab, Victoria had stopped him. "What about dinner and a club tomorrow night? We could invite James and the other guys," she added, an afterthought, when Edward hesitated.

"I have plans with a friend."

"Friend?" Victoria asked, her eyebrows arched incredulously or suspiciously, Edward couldn't decide which.

"Yes," he said.

"What about lunch on Sunday?"

"Victoria, I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to babysit me. I'm going to be here for a while, so I need to find my own way around. Besides, I promised Bella uninterrupted time over the weekend."

"She's here?"

"No; but she will be soon." Edward's eyes lit up in a way that had rankled Victoria.

"See you Monday," she said, her voice abrupt, as she'd walked away.

On Saturday, Edward slept in, had breakfast, and then called Bella. They spoke for hours, catching up on events there hadn't been time to discuss in earlier conversations. Finally, when he heard Renee calling Bella, Edward said, " I should go. I'll call tonight before I go out."

"Okay, but it will have to be before five your time. I'm meeting Erin and the gang, remember?" she reminded him of her plans with her college friends.

"Sure, but I was hoping we could also video chat when you get home."

"Really?" Bella asked hopefully, "It'll probably be around eleven; that's pretty late for you."

"Baby, I haven't seen or touched you for a week, and it's driving me nuts! I can't touch you, I know, but I can, at least, see you…. and watch you touch yourself," he added his voice dropping suggestively, and, despite being alone, Bella blushed, her pulse racing at the thought.

"Okay," she said after a second's hesitation. Bella was no exhibitionist—but imagining doing that with Edward, _for_ Edward, excited her. Like every other sexual act he'd introduced her to, she'd learn to forget her reservations and enjoy it. 'More than enjoy it,' she mentally corrected. 'Let's be honest; you _crave_ the things he does—the way he makes you feel.'

"Okay, I can call, or okay, I can watch you?" Edward challenged.

Emboldened, Bella whispered, "Only if _I_ can watch _you_."

"You're killing me, here, Baby," Edward groaned just as Renee called again, this time from Bella's doorway, so she, flustered, bid Edward a hasty goodbye. "We'll talk later," she said.

"Bella—"

"Yes?"

"Make sure you're at _our_ place, undressed when I call."

He'd hung up, and then quietly cursed as he palmed himself, trying to calm the part of his anatomy that demanded gratification. 'If I can wait, so can you,' he muttered. To distract himself, he picked up his guitar. An hour later, he'd met Chez outside the hotel. The pair visited several music stores where they enjoyed themselves testing different electric guitars. In the end, Edward settled on a Black Fender Stratocaster. Chez, a Stratocaster devotee, had been thrilled. "Get the red; makes a bigger statement," he suggested. "I prefer to let my music do the talking," Edward answered. "Now ya talkin' my language." Chez's baritone laugh rang out as he offered his hand in a fist bump.

Edward, carrying his first electric guitar, returned to the hotel in time to call Bella. He'd spent thousands of the money he'd worked hard to save before leaving Philadelphia, but that Fender, along with his Martin D-35, would become his favorites of the many guitars he'd end up treating himself to in the coming years.

He _did_ call Bella that night, and she answered from the tree house, greeting him with a shy smile, her hair spilled over her shoulders in lustrous waves, and wearing an ivory, lacy one-piece undergarment. Edward had been struck speechless at the sight of her, and when his synapses fired, allowing him to think again, he'd said—his voice raspy, "Oh, sweet fuck… you _are_ trying to kill me "When did you get that?"

"I bought it to bring to LA, but I wanted to do something special for you tonight."

"Stand," Edward said. "Let me see you." Bella complied immediately, as she did with each, subsequent, directive. She had, indeed, enjoyed what, until then, had been a new and, in her mind, deliciously wanton behavior. In fact, she'd more than enjoyed it; she'd _abandoned_ herself to the experience—twice, in fact, that night—until she fell asleep listening to Edward's soulful voice singing 'Beautiful Home.'

. . . . .

On Monday, James, Liam, and Alec arrived at Arrius' studios, not as individual artists as they'd done many times before; but as Eclipse, the band. They spent the week working with Edward listening to, learning, and then rehearsing each of the fourteen songs. As they'd demonstrated before, they learned fast, and despite their distinctly different personalities, the musicians, all got along well except for a few incidents, when not playing, that James had triggered Edward's temper. The first happened when, during a break, Edward, as he'd done since his arrival, retired to a quiet corner to call Bella.

"Chasing pussy?" James yelled across the studio, loud enough that Bella heard. "You should share. We're a band now, after all."

"Fuck off, James!" Edward spat, not bothering to issue a reminder that he wasn't part of the band. He turned his back and continued his interrupted conversation, but James made another crude remark. Edward stood, walked over to James and, for a moment, it had seemed that he'd punch him, but he'd left instead to finish his call. He'd returned angrier because Bella, shocked by James' crass comment, had asked; "Are they all like that?" "Only James—usually when he's hammered," Edward reassured her.

In the studio, James, tuning his guitar, had, seemingly, forgotten or chosen to forget his behavior. Edward, however, hadn't let it slide. "Don't _ever_ disrespect my girlfriend again!" he warned.

"Cool it, Masen. I was just kidding," James laughed.

"My relationship with Bella isn't a joke. You'd best remember that if you know what's good for you," Edward said, his voice more threatening. When Jason, who'd wondered in to listen, had intervened with a hand on his shoulder, Edward exhaled a long breath and picked up his guitar. Later, Liam pulled Edward aside and told him to ignore James. "He's an asshole about women, especially when he's smashed or high, but he's not all bad."

Edward hadn't detected alcohol on James' breath but wondered if he'd taken anything else. "Has he been using?" he asked.

"Not today. _That_ was just the natural asshole coming out," Liam laughed.

"He better not come into the studio drunk or fucking high," Edward said, glaring at James who didn't seem to notice.

On Friday night, when leaving the studio, James suggested, they visit Lure. It had been too late to call Bella and, when Liam and Alec eagerly agreed, Edward had tagged along. They were admitted without question because Victoria, he'd learned, had registered their names with the bouncer. Inside, they found her, ensconced at a table with three friends. Smiling when seeing them, she invited the men to sit. James downed several tequila shots in quick succession before swapping to bourbon. Glass in hand, he leaned across the table and asked Edward which of the women he wanted to fuck. "I'll let you have first pick this time—call it my welcome to LA gift," he laughed.

Edward addressed the females. "Sorry, ladies; nothing personal," he said before directing a blistering scowl at James. "Not interested—now, I'm telling you one last time; fuck off!" James shrugged and turned to whisper in the ear of the woman beside him. Edward finished his beer, got up, excused himself, and returned to the hotel.

Victoria frowned as she watched him leave. She turned on James. "What the hell are you doing? Messing with the man who's giving you a chance to get ahead!"

"Make up your mind, Vic. I thought _you're_ giving us this chance?" he replied snidely.

"Without Masen, it wouldn't have been possible!"

"Chill, woman. I thought you'd be happy I'm pushing your boy to forget his girlfriend—that's what you want isn't it?" Victoria ignored the gibe and delivered another warning instead.

"Let me remind you that Masen's contract doesn't stipulate who he has to use as backing musicians. _Yours_ depends on you performing with him," she said pointedly. She'd also deliberately emphasized the word backing, knowing it would get under James' skin because he, more than anything, wanted to front his own band.

James, despite his obvious anger and alcohol intake, had been wise enough not to remind her the promises she'd made him. 'Time enough for that,' he'd thought, and then, for the rest of the night, concentrated his attentions on the female beside him.

. . . . .

Two weeks later, Edward had stood, surveying his newly acquired apartment. 'Small,' he'd thought and then smiled, correcting himself with the realtor's description of 'compact.' The place was, certainly, compact but spotlessly clean, partially furnished, close to the studio, and, most importantly, affordable. For Edward, apart from his record contract, the apartment represented the most significant step in gaining independence. 'Even this didn't happen without an argument,' he'd scoffed when recalling his exchange with Victoria.

When arranging Edward's return to LA, she'd suggested he stay at the Sunset Marquis for six weeks, the estimated time to complete the album. "You'll be too busy to look for a place. Do it after recording," she'd said. At the time, Edward had agreed but, then, in a meeting to discuss his royalty advance, he'd learned how much the hotel would cost—had _already_ cost. "We'll pay for it from gross royalties," Victoria had reminded him when he'd expressed concern. Despite the reassurance, Edward decided he should move into his own place as soon as possible because, gross or net royalties, the costs would, ultimately, come from his earnings.

In the meeting, Mitch had offered a one hundred and twenty thousand dollar advance. Edward, delighted, had been ready to accept, but then, remembering the hotel bills and airfares he'd racked up, reconsidered and settled for thirty thousand dollars instead. That, added to his savings from past allowances and gig earnings, totaled just over fifty thousand dollars—enough, he'd hoped, to survive until his record sales provided an adequate income.

When he'd told Victoria his plans to find an apartment, she'd immediately suggested that he share a house with Eclipse. "I don't think so," Edward said.

"You just said you wanted to save costs. It makes sense for you and the guys to share."

"I want my own place," Edward insisted.

Victoria, however, didn't relent. The following afternoon, she handed Edward a list of website links. "Here's a shortlist of houses to look at," she said.

"I told you; I'm not interested. Besides, the guys already have homes. Why the hell would they want to move?"

"I'll handle them," she answered as if the matter had been settled. Her presumptuousness had irked Edward.

"For fuck sake, Victoria; what is it with you? I don't want to spend every waking _and_ sleeping moment with the band!" he snapped.

"I was only trying to help; what's wrong with _you_?"

"Look. I appreciate your efforts, but I don't need your help—not with this." He'd walked away without a backward glance.

On Monday, the following week, Victoria had listened, silent, as Edward spoke to Jason about his new apartment. Bella, she'd discovered, had helped him search for it online. Victoria had pursed her lips and bit back the acid retort on the tip of her tongue. Inwardly she'd seethed for hours. She hadn't met Bella yet, but, already, she'd detested her.

By Thursday, Edward's fifth in LA since returning, all the tracks for the album had been laid down, and the mixing, all except for the master, nearly complete. That night, he lay in bed on the sheets Bella had chosen, sheets that, along with a list of other necessities she'd compiled, he'd picked up from Ikea. 'Ikea, for fuck sake," he'd thought while navigating the nightmarishly endless aisles. Edward had never, _ever_ , imagined himself wandering around such a place. Still, he'd done so because Bella had assured him it was 'great for affordable, good quality stuff,' and he'd wanted to please her. Edward thanked his lucky stars when Daphne, Chez' wife, who he'd met at dinner the day they'd shopped for his guitar, had offered to accompany him. Chez refused to join them. "Nah, man—my balls still hangin' in place," he'd laughed. "Girl," he told Daphne, "take photos 'cause when he's famous, I gonna sell them to the paps!"

"Your balls are in my purse—been there for twenty years," she'd deadpanned. "Maybe I'll sell photos of _them_." Edward had laughed so loud; he'd almost cried. He liked Daphne as much as he liked Chez, and he'd been even more grateful when she'd helped him make up his bed with the navy blue sheets and showed him how to place the pillows—the four she'd insisted he needed. Next, she folded the towels in the bathroom. "Hang two and roll the others. Here, like this, and then you store them here," she'd instructed yet again, all in the name of "making the place fit for your girl," a phrase she'd repeated many times that day.

Edward had glanced at the pillow beside him. Soon, he wouldn't have to imagine Bella looking back at him, her lips, kiss-swollen, hair spilling around her beautiful face, her naked body pressed up against his because on Friday—' _tomorrow_ , ' he'd reminded himself, 'she'll be here."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading and I apologize for being late in posting this chapter. I was unwell for most of the week.**

 **I'm pretty sure I've responded to all reviews. If I've missed out on answering anyone, I thank you now. Thanks also to any new readers who've chosen to follow or favorite Unplugged.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged – Chapter Eight**

Bella woke slowly, her mouth curved into a smile when recognizing the hand on her breast. Her smile broadened when she tried stretching her legs and found herself trapped by Edward's long legs tangled with hers. 'Like an octopus,' she thought because he had, as always, managed to wrap his body almost entirely around hers

She felt his soft, even breath on her shoulder, the scratch of his stubble on her skin. Bella turned her head, wanting to see Edward's face, but all she saw was a mass of unruly hair. She inhaled his comforting scent instead, and then, with a contented sigh, snuggled against him. He stirred at the movement, tightened his hold on her breast, his calloused, guitarist fingertips grazed her sensitive flesh. Bella squirmed as the delicious sensation moved south, brushing against his morning arousal. Edward's arm, the one that had pillowed her neck, snaked downward and then, cupping her sex, he teased and stroked while pinching and elongating her nipple. Bella's breathing grew more and more erratic. Edward kissed her shoulder before he lifted her leg and, guiding it over his hip, entered her. He made love to Bella, his thrusts unhurried and deep, stoking their building orgasm until first, she and then he fell over the edge.

"'Morning, Baby," Edward finally spoke, his voice raspy as he kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. He turned Bella onto her back and kissed her deeply before, pulling back, he looked at her face. He smiled appreciatively at the sight of her—skin flushed from their lovemaking, full, pouty mouth slightly parted, and her long hair, tousled and cascading over his pillow. "Sleep okay?" he asked and then, remembering the number of times and how vigorously he'd taken her the night before, apologized. "Sorry; I should've checked how you were feeling before doing that."

"I'm fine, _fantastic_. I like sleepy morning sex," Bella assured him.

"Yeah? What about energetic, sometimes rough sex?" Edward graced her with one of his thigh clenching, toe-curling smiles. Remembering their reunion the day before, she blushed.

When he'd met Bella at the airport late on Friday afternoon, Edward had kissed her long and hard. The touch of his hands, lips, and tongue communicated his need and echoed hers. "You're here—finally," he said and then, learning that she'd checked a suitcase, held her hand and led her to the carousel. Edward let go only to lift the case off and, once outside, helped her into a cab. During the drive to West Hollywood, which should have taken fifty minutes but, thanks to traffic, lasted an hour and twenty minutes, Edward became more and more impatient. Bella placed a hand on his thigh to stop his leg bouncing. "Not helping," he groaned. Despite her own desperate need, she giggled. "For that, I'm going to make you beg," Edward threatened. Bella smiled but didn't respond because she knew that, at some point over the next five days, he would.

Finally, inside his apartment, Edward kicked the door shut, dropped Bella's luggage and carried her into the bedroom. There, he deposited her on the bed. "Do you need to freshen up?" he asked. "I'll only be a few minutes," Bella answered and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. As soon as she reappeared, Edward practically pounced.

"I'll show you around later. Right now, I need you," he said, hurriedly undressing her. "I want you too," Bella replied as she'd eagerly tugged at his jeans.

Hours later—nine o'clock, to be exact—they resurfaced. If they hadn't been hungry, who knows if and when they would have left their bed. "We could go out. What do you feel like—Mexican, Italian? There's a great Japanese place nearby?" Edward suggested.

"Let's stay in," Bella said, and they did. They showered and then, barely dressed, sat on the sofa, legs entwined, as they ate and planned the rest of Bella's stay.

On Saturday, they slept in and then brunched at a local café. Later, they wandered down The Hollywood Walk of Fame where they entertained themselves by finding their favorite actors' and musicians' stars. That night, they met Chez and Daphne for dinner. Bella liked them almost instantly and felt pleased and grateful that Edward had made such good friends. On Sunday, Edward, having accepted the use of Chez' car, drove Bella to Venice Beach where they enjoyed a late lunch and then returned to Edward's apartment, where they made love and talked.

"Do you want to live here permanently?" Bella asked about Los Angeles.

"No," Edward responded unhesitatingly. "I have to spend time here, but Philly's still home—at least 'til you've finished college."

"Is that possible…you know, with recording and all the other stuff you have to do?"

"I don't see why not. We'll do the videos and photography for the album here, and Victoria and the marketing guys are arranging radio and TV interviews. A lot of that will also happen here, but there'll probably be some traveling. I don't see why I can't do that from Philly."

"What about touring?"

"Mitch wants to see how the singles and then the album performs before deciding. If we go ahead, you may be on Spring break. You could join me for one, maybe two legs?"

Bella smiled. "Maybe. I'm glad you want to come home, though."

"Bella, it's where you are—and Alice and Esme." Bella noted the exclusion of Carlisle's name but, knowing how deeply Edward's hurt went, didn't mention him either.

"Well, I'm still glad," she said, her mouth closing around another spoonful of ice cream. Edward watched lustfully as she deliberately licked the spoon. "Want some?" Bella offered seductively.

"Not ice cream," he said, removing the tub and spoon from her hand. "I think it's time I made you beg."

 **. . . . .**

Over the weekend, closeted in Edward's apartment, sightseeing, even spending time with Chez and Daphne, Bella had found it easy to believe that Edward's life would remain relatively unchanged. He was still her childhood friend, now boyfriend, just transplanted to another city to follow his dream. On Monday morning, however, having accompanied him to Arrius, she got her first real taste of his new reality.

The receptionist greeted Edward with a gleam in her eye. That hadn't bothered Bella particularly, nor had seeing the same, covetous expression on the faces of the half dozen other women who'd materialized out of nowhere at Edward's appearance. What shocked her was the fact that they'd all called him Masen. Bella had known about his professional name change, naturally. She'd imagined it on CD covers, on posters, and on billboards. What she hadn't imagined was the ease and speed with which Masen would supplant Edward Cullen.

She'd felt comforted that Edward hadn't reacted any differently to his name or the attention. He'd introduced Bella as his girlfriend and eagerly led her toward the recording studios. She'd stopped in the doorway, uncertainty clouding her face. The excitement she'd felt when leaving Edward's apartment was still there, thrumming beneath her skin but, suddenly, she felt unsure.

"I don't want to get in the way," she murmured to Edward when seeing Jason and his imposing console.

"You won't," Edward assured her and pulled her forward. Jason, who'd been engrossed, headphones on while listening to music, looked up.

"Jason, this is Bella," Edward announced proudly.

"It's nice to meet you," Bella greeted him. Jason smiled and removed his headphones. "You too. I'd shake hands, but Masen doesn't seem keen to let go," he said, amused. Bella blushed and freed her hand from Edward's to take Jason's.

"Damn right," Edward returned. "Do you blame me?"

"Can't say I do." Jason observed Bella carefully. Her cheeks warmed, but she held his gaze. Inwardly, Jason smiled. Edward's girl was lovely—hardly surprising given Edward's good looks, he thought. Dark haired, with warm, topaz-brown eyes, Bella had a 'girl next door' beauty. She seemed sweet—innocent even, compared to what he'd grown used to in the industry—and entirely unexpected because Jason had imagined Masen's girlfriend as a cool, statuesque blonde.

Over the next hour, while Jason and Edward talked, using unfamiliar terms such as 'reverb' and 'panning', Bella listened and tried to learn about Edward's new life. Jason, meanwhile, watched as Masen frequently asked her opinion, how genuinely interested he seemed in her views, and how deeply Bella thought before she answered. 'She's intelligent and centers him,' Jason decided. He'd experienced Masen's passion for his music, his dedication, but he'd never, before, seen him this _contented_. Jason finally understood the depth of emotion that inspired Beautiful Home. 'Hope he doesn't fuck it up' he thought because he'd witnessed too many musicians trample and then destroy the good in their lives. He also recognized that behind Bella's quiet personality was a woman with a steel core. She, unlike numerous long-suffering wives and girlfriends, wouldn't tolerate shit.

Victoria, who'd arrived unnoticed, watched, her lips pursed when Edward placed a set of headphones over Bella's ears and then kissed her. "You're late for our meeting," she announced her presence.

"Victoria, this is Bella," Edward answered, not concerned at all.

"Hi," Victoria greeted Bella cursorily before turning to Edward. "Everyone's waiting."

"Give me five—the usual room?" he asked before speaking to Bella. "You wanna come, Baby?"

"Masen—" Victoria interrupted, her tone disapproving.

"You go. I'll get a cab and see you at home later," Bella told Edward. "Go; I'll be fine," she urged before he could protest.

"Bella can stay with me," Jason offered. "She hasn't heard the whole the album."

"Is that what you want? You can come with me," Edward said, ignoring Victoria's irritated huff.

"I want to hear the rest of the songs," Bella said.

"Okay," Edward conceded and then, despite their audience, kissed her lingeringly, thanked Jason and left. Victoria hurried after him.

"Don't mind Vic. She's always territorial about her domain," Jason apologized.

"Doesn't bother me," Bella said, her nonchalance hid her discomfort because she felt Victoria was being territorial about more than her _domain_.

Two and a half hours later, Edward found Bella and Jason in the canteen. "Sorry, I didn't think it would take that long," he said. Bella smiled, dismissing his apology. "How did it go?"

"Well, everyone had an opinion, but, in the end, we agreed on the storyboards. Casting's tomorrow and shooting on Wednesday and Thursday."

"Will you still be here, Bella?" Jason asked.

"I leave Wednesday night," Bella replied. Just then, Victoria joined them with, apparently, an entirely changed attitude.

"So soon? What a pity," she smiled at Bella. "We should do something before you leave. Masen? What about meeting up with Eclipse tonight?"

"Bella and I have plans."

"Oh, come on. She can't leave without meeting them. Bella, don't you want to meet the people Masen will be spending nearly all his time with?"

"Of course, but I'm here to be with Edward, so it's up to him."

Edward took Bella's hand. "Do you want to go? We could do dinner tomorrow?"

"Sure; why not?" Bella answered.

"Good!" Victoria said, extremely satisfied. "Lure at nine. I'll call James."

Edward and Bella arrived forty minutes late because Edward had insisted on taking her to a restaurant first and hadn't seemed concerned about time. He wanted his girlfriend to himself. "You look smoking hot', he'd told her when she'd emerged from his bedroom earlier that night.

To Edward, Bella was always beautiful, but, that night, wearing skin-tight black leather pants and high heels that made her legs appear a mile long, he'd thought she looked like every man's wet dream. She'd teamed the pants with an emerald green silk top, and her hair, silky and smooth, hanging halfway down her back had seemed extra full and bouncy. She'd done something to her eyes to make them look smoky and sultry, and her lips—'those lips will be the fucking death of me', he'd quietly groaned—looked extra soft, pouty, and shiny.

Bella, thrilled by his reaction, had mentally thanked Erin for talking her into shopping. 'You're going to Hollywood where everyone's obsessed with fashion and looking good,' she'd argued when Bella had pointed out that she already had a closet full of clothes. Bella, who favors a more natural look, had also been grateful for Erin's makeup demonstration and tips on blow-drying her hair. "Bend over like this…see," Erin had said bending forward at the waist, her head hung low. "Then you flip it back like this. See how full and sexy it is?"

Her appearance boosted Bella's confidence when entering the nightclub, which, she'd learned, celebrities often frequented. She also felt better about spending a night in Victoria's presence because, despite her bitchiness, the woman was beautiful, and Bella suspected that her interest in Edward was more than professional. She hadn't mentioned Victoria's attitude to Edward. Bella didn't want to look petty or jealous—not when Edward had so much to deal with already. Also, she didn't know how Victoria related to her other artists, so she couldn't be sure about her suspicions. She'd resolved to wait and see.

Because of her age, Bella had worried about being refused entry, but Edward had assured her that they wouldn't have trouble. "Victoria would have handled it," he'd said, and he'd been right because, after checking his list, the bouncer had let them in. They found Victoria at a table with three men and three women. Edward introduced James, Alec, and Liam. "This is Jess, Tracy, and Cindy," Liam reciprocated after greeting Bella. Bella could feel James' eyes on her. He'd watched her and Edward approach; his eyes focused on her. She'd felt uneasy and also annoyed, especially when remembering his comment about sharing, but she'd pushed her feelings aside. James was, after all, part of Edward's backing band, and Bella didn't want to cause friction. She'd tried to ignore him, be polite when forced to interact with him, and she'd succeeded, mostly. Bella's tolerance had slipped only once when Edward ordered a non-alcoholic cocktail for her. "It's fucked up, don't you think, that eighteen-year-olds are considered old enough to fuck but not drink?" he'd asked Bella.

Bella stopped Edward, who'd looked like he wanted to punch James, with a hand on his bicep. "I'm nineteen, not eighteen, and no; I don't necessarily think it's wrong to have an older restriction on alcohol. What _would_ be wrong is if someone was drunk out of their mind and had indiscriminate sex," she'd replied.

"Really?" James scoffed. "Then you'll never fit into this life. He turned to Cindy before Bella could respond. "Drink up, baby; I like my women drunk and desperate," he said.

"Not everyone's an asshole like you," Edward said, his voice threatening, but Liam intervened.

"Ignore him. I told you he's an ass," he said, looking pointedly at James and then changed the subject by asking about Bella's studies. Victoria, surprisingly quiet, listened with an enigmatic smile until, finally, she asked Bella, "how did you and Masen meet?"

Edward chose to respond and told how he and Bella had met in the garden. "How cute," Victoria said, her voice treacle-sweet, her eyes cold.

Later, when Liam and Alec and their partners had joined James and Cindy on the dance floor, and Edward had excused himself to visit the restroom, Victoria turned to Bella. "James is right, you know."

"About what?" Bella asked.

"You're not cut out to be a musician's girlfriend."

"Well, that's your opinion, and you don't know anything about me or Edward's and my relationship."

"I know enough," Victoria answered cryptically. "And why do you insist on calling him Edward? He's Masen now."

"He's Edward. He'll always be Edward to me, his family, and to those who truly know him."

"Maybe; but he's becoming Masen. In the end, he'll _be_ Masen. How many people still call Sting Gordon, or Elton Reg? How many even know Bruno Mars is really Peter Hernandez? And how many rock stars are still with their childhood sweethearts? How many are still with their first wives?"

Bella, despite the kick in the gut she felt, answered confidently. "Enough," she said. Edward's return stopped further discussion on the matter. "Okay?" he asked Bella, sensing her discomfort. "Sure," she assured him. "Victoria was just telling me about the music business; weren't you?" she smiled at Victoria.

Later still, when visiting the ladies' rooms, Bella met Cindy leaving one of the stalls. She was pretty drunk, but worse, Bella saw the residue of white powder on her nostrils. Cindy sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Good shit," she said, unashamed at being caught. "James can fix you up if you wanna get high."

"Umm, no thanks," Bella managed to reply. She used the facilities and returned to the table. "Do you think we could leave now?" she whispered to Edward.

"Sure, Baby," he said and, taking her hand, wished everyone goodbye. Victoria watched them go, wondering whether she'd done enough damage. Bella, she decided, was tougher than she looked. She left soon after.

Bella, meanwhile, decided she'd talk to Edward about what she'd witnessed. Edward's exposure to drugs worried her more than Victoria's bitchiness. 'She's like those damned Cullen Alley Cats,' she thought. 'I'll ignore her like I did them; she'll get the message eventually.' Bella, though, had miscalculated. Victoria was nothing like those teenage high schoolers. She was older, smarter, more experienced, more determined, and much, _much_ more cunning.

Bella had to wait to raise the drug issue because Edward, having accused her of 'driving me insane all night,' had stripped her almost as soon as they'd entered the apartment. "Oh, fucking hell," he'd groaned when he'd removed her shoes, top, and leather pants and saw the scrap of emerald and black lace she called panties. "Turn around; let me look at you. Put your shoes back on," he instructed. Blushing but highly aroused, Bella obliged. "Fuck!" Edward swore again when confronted by her pert cheeks.

"Bella, this isn't going to be gentle. I'll make it up to you, but right now, I want to take you hard," he'd said, his voice a rasp.

"I love you, Edward, and I love every way you love me." The last of her words were muffled as he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss.

They woke late the next morning, too late for the drug conversation because Edward had to attend a casting session for the Beautiful Home video. "Go on your own; it will be quicker," Bella said.

"No," Edward argued. "Bella, you were the first person I told about wanting to make records. You've always supported me; you inspired one of my best songs. I want to share as much with you as I can."

Bella relented. "Shower while I make the bed. No, Edward, it will make us late," she laughed, refusing his suggestion that they shower together.

The casting session hadn't gone well. The director, Rod, complained about the choice of models. How, given the dozen stunning women who'd paraded before them, Bella couldn't understand. She also couldn't believe the way they'd criticized them. "Eyes too small, nose too big; she won't look good in profile. Too tall, too short, she's too fat—the woman was _not_ fat. Bella had to really bite her tongue that time to stop herself from challenging Mitch, who'd made the comment. 'I mean, the man has a potbelly, for God's sake,' she'd thought. Victoria, who'd looked less than pleased when Bella turned up with Edward, tried to convince them that one girl, a statuesque redhead, was perfect. 'Much like her,' Bella had noted with a mental eye roll.

"No," Edward, who hadn't commented before, said.

"What's wrong with her?" Victoria asked irritably.

"Nothing—she's just wrong for that song," he answered.

"Masen—" she argued, but Rod intervened.

"Masen, what or who you were thinking about when writing the lyrics?"

"Bella," Edward said, smiling at her.

For the first time since entering the room, Rod really looked at Bella. "This is the girl the song's about?"

"Yes," Edward replied.

"Well, why don't we use her? She's perfect."

"She's not a professional," Victoria immediately objected.

"Who the fuck cares? I don't. I'll direct her; that's my job, not yours," Rod told her.

"Cost is my concern. It will take longer to work with an amateur," she persisted.

"Actually, Victoria, it's marketing's concern, and Rod's responsible for delivering the video on budget," Mitch pointed out. Victoria huffed but didn't respond.

"Baby, what do you think?" Edward asked Bella. "What?" he gently pressed when she hesitated.

Bella glanced around nervously before speaking. "I don't know… I don't want to spoil things for you. Victoria's right—"

Rod interrupted before Edward could. "Masen, why don't we give you and Bella a few minutes? If she decides to do it, I'll take her through the storyboard."

"Yeah; that sounds good," Edward said and waited until the room emptied before speaking again. "Bella, you could never disappoint me. And I don't want you to do anything you don't want to, but, honestly, I'd rather do the video with you than anyone else. The song's about you—about us."

"Edward, I'm not a model or actresss…those girls today; they were beautiful—"

"Baby, you're beautiful; the most beautiful to me," he told her, his eyes beseeching. "We don't have to act; we just have to be _us_."

"Will it make you happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"Okay then."

"You'll do it?"

"Yes," Bella said, and Edward pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply. That's how Rod found them when he returned. He showed Bella the storyboard, detailing each drawing. "Edward, alone in a room playing his guitar, wandering through deserted city streets late at night, and always, a woman, indistinguishable, in the background and unseen by him. Next, he finds a place, a tree-filled garden with a tree house," he said.

Edward squeezed Bella's hand when Rod got to that part, and she smiled in return. The next sequence he described was so evocative of the many times Edward had entered their special place and slipped into bed with her, that Bella had wanted to cry. The entire video, Rod said, would be backlit and filmed in black and white. "The first segment is Edward alone and lost, and the second, sensually romantic, sees him finding the love he'd been searching for."

When Rod had finished, although not entirely comfortable, Bella felt better because the video, she'd realized, focused on Edward. The shots of her, except for a couple at the end, revealing her face in profile, wouldn't be highly recognizable. The rest of the day became a blur for Bella. First, she posed for photos that Rod took with his digital camera. Next Bella had to tell her parents she'd be staying an extra day. Renee, excited about Bella appearing in Edward's video, wanted to chat, but Bella stopped her. "Mom, I have to go; I need to call Erin to arrange for someone to take notes for tomorrow's classes."

Then, separated from Edward, who'd had other things to do, she spent hours in a wardrobe session with a hyper and verbose stylist called Emmy. The tiny woman, wearing black, fashionably ripped jeans, t-shirt, and red combat boots fussed around Bella. She uttered phrases like, "Good, you've waxed; that saves time," and "you're a dream to dress, nothing like the self-absorbed bitches I usually have to deal with," as she'd produced outfit after outfit for her to try on.

Mentally exhausted from the day's emotional roller coaster, Bella left Arrius late that afternoon with Edward. Finally, over an early dinner, she raised the drug incident. "Bella, I hate that you saw that, but that shit happens all over, not just here," Edward told her.

"But—if James does drugs," she said, but Edward, knowing what was worrying Bella, cut her off. "Baby, what do you think happened in Philly? I've been offered drugs before, many times. It doesn't mean I have to accept. The most I've ever done is get drunk and smoke pot; you know that."

"Edward, I don't mind you drinking and smoking occasionally, but drugs..."

"Bella, it's not an issue. I can't control James, and as long as the music doesn't suffer, it's not my business."

Satisfied that she'd voiced her feelings, Bella dropped the subject. The next morning, at three-thirty, they tumbled into a limo because Rod wanted to film the first scenes before sunrise. Bella, not needed until later, had sacrificed sleep to accompany Edward. At the location, a wooded estate with a tiny guest cottage reminiscent of their tree house, Edward, after a short conversation with Rod and Sam, the DOP—director of photography, cameraman, Bella learned—had been whisked away to the hair and make-up van. Bella gratefully accepted the coffee and a breakfast burrito offered by one of the catering crew. Edward emerged, dressed in black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a worn leather jacket. Sam checked light readings, and then he, Rod, and Edward spoke again before filming started. Bella watched, absorbed, by the smallest detail. Edward, she felt, was a natural in front of the camera.

Things were going well, a crew member informed her, and when Sam stopped for a lighting change, and Rod invited her to look through the lens, Bella had been awestruck. Edward is undeniably handsome—she's reminded of that each time she sets eyes on him—but seeing him through the camera lens, Bella thought him devastatingly so. The camera concentrated not only his looks but also the potent mixture of mystery and broodiness that Edward possessed. Bella could have watched him all day, but Rod was anxious to get back to work. She thanked him and returned to her former spot.

"I hear you're his girlfriend?" a woman, another crew member, who stood close asked.

"I am," Bella confirmed.

"You're one lucky bitch," the woman said, her statement completely non-malicious. Bella smiled without answering and returned to watching Edward.

"That's a wrap here," Rod announced after he was satisfied with the film of Edward ascending the steps of the tree house and opening the door. "Everyone needed at the next location, move now. The rest will pack up here." Production staff, many who'd been waiting around during filming, jumped into action.

Edward joined Bella and kissed her lightly. "What do you think?"

"You were great; it looked great." She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'll be even better when I'm touching you," he whispered seductively in her ear.

"You're insatiable," she said.

"Only for you, and you deprived me last night."

"We had to get up at three!" Bella pinched his waist playfully.

"You still owe me, and now you're going to pay for that too," he threatened and lightly bit her earlobe before stepping back. "I'd better change. Emmy will have my balls if I mess these clothes."

"She'd better not," Bella laughed.

"I'll be sure to tell her," Edward smiled cheekily. "By the way, we're traveling with Rod," he said before racing away.

At the second location, back in West Hollywood in a vast, warehouse-like space, another production crew waited. One corner looked like the inside of a tree house or cabin with creamy white walls, and an enormous black iron daybed dressed in pristine white with billowing, sheer fabric covering a half-canopy, also white, hanging above. The producer, rushed Bella and Edward into hair and make-up, a screened area across from the set, where Ashley, the makeup artist, Sarah, the hairstylist, and Emmy were waiting.

"Why didn't we just use the Topanga tree house?" Bella asked Emmy, who seemed to know everything that happened on set.

"Rod wanted white; the other place had natural timber walls. Also, it's easier to control the lighting in here," Emmy explained.

"Why white?"

"Great contrast against your hair, even Masen's, for a black and white shoot."

"And the muslin?"

"Rod and Sam want to amp up the sexy mood by shooting some of the scenes through the cloth," Emmy explained.

"That makes sense," Bella nodded as Sarah curled her hair around gigantic rollers. With her makeup complete, her hair styled and tumbling down her back, and wearing only a skin-toned thong and a toweling dressing gown, she waited. Her nerves, calm earlier, returned in full force. Edward, when he arrived to escort her onto the set, found Bella twisting her fingers nervously.

"Remember what we talked about?" he reminded her. "It's just us, Bella."

"But all those people out there…" she murmured.

"Forget about them. Just concentrate on me and what Rod tells us to do. Okay, Baby?"

"Okay," she agreed, hoping she'd be able to do as he'd asked.

On set, Rod explained that they'd start with Bella asleep on the daybed and explained what he wanted from her. Bella looked around nervously when Emmy loosened her dressing gown. She breathed a sigh of relief to see that only Edward appeared to be watching. While the stylist fussed with draping sheets to reveal just enough of her naked back, Bella prayed for her nerves to settle. 'It's just us,' she repeated over and over until, finally, she heard someone call out 'quiet' and Rod's voice telling her they were 'rolling'.

By the time Edward, also half-undressed joined Bella beneath the sheets, his arm around her waist pulling her close, Bella's nervousness had disappeared. When Rod directed them to kiss, self-consciousness returned, but Edward's lips, as always, robbed her of thought. All her mind registered was how much she loved him and how damned good he made her feel. So good, she missed Rod's announcement of, "that's a wrap everyone." Edward's throaty chuckle and his whispered, "you still owe me," brought her to her senses.

Dressed and not bothering to remove her makeup, Bella returned to the set where she found Edward with Rod, Sam, and Victoria. 'When did she get here?' Bella wondered but, then, receiving Victoria's sour-faced greeting, guessed she'd been there long enough to see some of the shooting. Rod's praise only increased Victoria's irritation. No one, other than Bella, it seemed, noticed her animosity. Bella dismissed it. 'Maybe she's always like this," she rationalized.

She and Edward returned to his apartment, where Bella paid her debt—with interest. "Paid in full?" she asked as Edward lazily caressed her back. "You wore me out," he joked. "Good; you owe _me_ now," she playfully threatened. They fell asleep and woke late in the afternoon, ordered in food, and then returned to bed. At ten-thirty that night, a driver arrived to take them to Arrius where they met the hair, makeup, and wardrobe team. At twelve-thirty, everyone left to shoot the street scenes. First, they filmed and photographed Bella and then Edward. The footage, Rod explained, would be superimposed to create the final video scenes. They shot in two more locations before, just after six a.m., a driver dropped Edward and Bella at his apartment.

Bella left LA at ten that night. A week later, during one of their regular phone conversations, Edward told her to check her email. There, she found a video link he'd sent. Bella cried when first seeing it; it was so, so beautiful and romantic. "That's us, Baby," Edward, also emotional, said. Over the next years, the video for Beautiful World, a reminder of their love, drove both Bella and Edward to the heights of happiness and the depths of sorrow.

* * *

 **As always, thank you for reading.**

 **I have some special thank you's this week. First, to the lovely ladies at TLS for including Unplugged in last week's recs. I'm grateful and thrilled.**

 **Second, a very special thank you to those readers who, having seen the rec, chose to follow and/or favorite this story. Welcome aboard the Unplugged train.**

 **And finally, last but certainly not least, my heartfelt thanks to all my loyal readers, especially those who've been with me from the start of my Fanfiction journey. You know who you are :) Your support inspires me to continue even when I'm feeling jaded and down.**

 **This is has been long chapter; there was a lot of ground to cover. Again, I've posted at an ungodly hour—it's 4.18 a.m, and I hope I haven't missed any glaring errors. If I have, my apologies, but I wanted to get this chapter out before the start of another hectic week.**

 **The next chapter will see a bit of a time jump. It's the one I think everyone's been waiting for.**

 **Until next time. Take care everyone.**

 **Shenda x**


	11. Chapter 11

**Twilight characters and related properties are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original story, plot lines, and characters belong to FoolForEdward.**

 **AN: I usually relegate announcements to the end of a chapter but, given the circumstances, I think this one warrants this space.**

 **First, I apologize for the lengthy delay in updating. I won't bore you with the many reasons except to assure you that it was not intentional. I'm just juggling a lot of balls in the air right now. I hope things settle soon and ask that you bear with me.**

 **I had planned to cover the events everyone has been waiting for in one chapter but the characters just wouldn't shut up. They talked and talked, and I wrote and wrote. The chapter ended up being just over 12,000 words; too much, I thought to be digested in one go, so I split it in two. But, please, stow the pitchforks; I'm posting both chapters today.**

 **And second, and most importantly; I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Nine**

Nine months had passed since Bella left LA, and in that time Edward's life had drastically changed.

Three weeks after Bella's departure, his CD and video for Beautiful Home had been released. In the week of the launch, Edward had sat through endless remote interviews with radio hosts and DJ's across the country, including several college stations. Face-to-face meetings had been limited to the top ten stations.

"That's a shitload of talking," Edward had remarked when presented with the list.

"We need the widest exposure and the most airplay in the shortest possible time to break into the charts. That's why we hit as many stations as we can in the first weeks," Eva, Arrius' promotions director, explained.

"Why not do all of them via remote? We'd fit in more interviews, wouldn't we?" he asked.

"Second and third string stations are happy to do that, but the ones with the biggest audiences can have their pick of artists. They want studio interviews—especially with newbies like you," Eva said, and Edward nodded.

"This station, alone," she pointed to the name, "reaches more than 20 million. That's why it tops our face-to-face list."

Edward, knowing the host's popularity, nodded again but asked," How can one station reach so many?"

"Syndication—international," Eva answered, smiling. "Every interview's important, but I want you to pull out all stops for this one. They usually don't talk to anyone who hasn't had a hit, but I pulled in some favors."

"I'll do my best," Edward promised. He read the list again and then asked, "Could we move the LA face-to-face interviews into the first week, and can we leave Chicago for last?"

"We can try," Eva answered at the same time Victoria, who'd also been present, asked, " _Why_?"

"I want to leave on the Friday, not Sunday night, spend the weekend inPhilly, then travel to New York, and onto Boston. I'll fly back for the Philly interviews and then to Chicago."

"Masen, this is business, not a family reunion," Victoria snapped.

Edward ignored her. "Eva? Do the changes bother you?" he asked.

"You want to spend the weekend in Philadelphia, fly to New York, then Boston, back to Philadelphia, and then Chicago—right?" she checked.

"Yes."

"I don't see a problem," Eva decided after a brief contemplation. "We'll speak to the stations."

"Good! If they agree, would you change my flights, please?"

"Sure," Eva said, and then, addressing both him and Victoria, asked, "Any other questions?"

"No. Thanks for all your hard work—you and your team," Edward answered and included the two execs Eva had brought into the meeting in his smile. The younger, a woman, seemed dazed by his attention. Inwardly, Eva rolled her eyes. Every female, even some males, had been obsessing about Masen since he'd first stepped foot into Arrius. She'd listened to them rave about his hair, his eyes, his mouth, his lickable jaw—how _hot_ he is. Hell, she'd even heard them speculate about the size of his dick! It's not that Eva, nearing forty, didn't find him attractive, sexy even. 'I have a pulse, don't I?' she'd huffed at a colleague who'd asked if she thought him gorgeous—but Eva is also sensible. Masen, she'd noted, was always polite, but remained unaffected by their attentions.

"You're welcome," Eva said and, given that Victoria hadn't answered her question, motioned for her minions to follow her out. Outside, remembering Victoria's sour expression, she'd rolled her eyes again—an actual, not a mental roll this time. Victoria was excellent at her job, Eva thought, but she was also controlling and, frankly, a pain in the ass when she felt her territory threatened. Not that the logistics of a promotional campaign was any of her damned business, but Victoria often stretched boundaries. She flattered, charmed, and used her physical attributes to achieve her goals; and, if that failed, she wasn't averse to resorting to bullying and other underhanded tactics.

Victoria didn't intimidate Eva, a hard-nosed ex New York marketing and advertising exec. There'd been no professional reason to refuse Edward's request, so she hadn't. 'Besides,' Eva scoffed, 'that woman has more than a professional interest in Masen.' She'd wondered whether he knew that, whether he saw through her. 'Whatever,' she'd smiled when remembering how Edward had disregarded Victoria's objection. 'He's no pushover. Let's hope, if he hasn't already, that he'll soon recognize her games.'

In the meeting room, Victoria and Edward had argued. "Am I meeting my obligations?" he demanded.

"Yes," she reluctantly conceded.

"Will the changes negatively affect the launch?"

"It increases costs," Victoria said.

"Since when do you give a fuck about _costs_? I'll end up paying for everything anyway!" Edward had snapped, picked up the documents Eva had left him, and walked out.

Victoria had seethed because that hadn't been the only thing about Edward's promotional tour that she'd been thwarted on. She'd wanted to accompany him to New York, Boston, and Philadelphia. "He doesn't have experience with the media," she'd explained to Mitch.

"By then, he would have sat through nearly fifty interviews. Besides, that's a manager's job, not yours, and, given that Masen doesn't have a manager, if he does need handholding, one of Eva's staff should do it," Mitch had dismissed her.

Victoria, unable to argue the logic, had been forced to accept Mitch's decision. 'Now,' she'd fumed at the end of the meeting with Eva, 'he's going to spend even more time with her. God, I'm sick of her and everyone talking about that video.' She'd spent most of the day, and a long time after, thinking about some extremely unladylike things she'd like to do or have done to Bella.

Edward, on the other hand, had been ecstatic about spending time with Bella. He'd been especially happy that she'd be a part of the launch of Beautiful Home. Bella didn't want to share the spotlight, but she'd be with him—if not there, physically, during the interviews, she'd be with him before and after every one because Edward had determined that Bella would accompany him to New York and Boston.

That night, when Edward called Bella, she'd been equally excited. "Of course, I'll come," she'd said when he'd asked about New York and Boston. 'I can get someone to take notes. So, we'll have six days together?"

"And seven _nights_ , Baby," Edward answered.

"You'd better start working on your stamina then," she teased.

"Bella," Edward warned, his voice playfully threatening, "you're the one who's going to need stamina. By the time I get there, I wouldn't have touched you for nearly six weeks."

"You're counting?"

"You bet your cute ass I am. I'm also counting the callouses on my hand!" he said, and Bella snort-giggled.

"You have a lot of making up to do, Baby."

"So have you," Bella giggled again, and Edward smiled at the sound.

"You're just so fucking cute," he told her. They spoke, then, about where, in Philadelphia, Edward would stay. "Jake said I could crash there, but I want to be with you, so I'll check into a hotel."

"Stay here; we could visit the tree house whenever we want," Bella suggested.

"I'd like that. Would your parents mind?"

"Mum definitely won't, and Dad can't complain after I stayed with you in LA."

"I don't want to cause trouble, Bella. It's probably best if I book a hotel; you could stay with me."

"No. I'll handle Dad," she said, and Edward, recognizing her stubborn streak that only rarely emerged with him, agreed.

Edward, nervous and unsure at first, had, to his surprise, enjoyed most of the radio interviews. Eva had hailed the week a success. Uncharacteristically, she'd gushed when praising Edward's interview with the man dubbed as 'Hollywood's hottest host'. Mitch and Victoria had also expressed satisfaction because Beautiful Home had already made it onto Billboard + Twitter, a real time chart that tracks the fastest moving songs shared on Twitter. Artists and record labels eagerly monitor the results because it's a proven predictor of a record's eventual success, Eva had informed Edward.

Everyone he passed in the Arrius offices congratulated him. Even Aro, smiling widely, had stopped him in the corridor and clapped him on the back. "You're trending," he'd said, repeating the phrase, which everyone else had used when mentioning Beautiful Home's climb in the charts.

By Friday morning, after his last interview of the week, despite being exhausted and claiming to be 'talked out', Edward had been exhilarated. He felt that, no matter how long he lived, he'd never forget the magnitude of emotions that flooded him when he'd first heard his song played on the radio—disbelief, pride, unadulterated joy, followed by sadness when remembering Elizabeth and Lou, who weren't around to share his success. He'd thought of everyone else he had to thank—Bella, who'd supported his music from the moment they'd met; Esme, Alice, and Jake who'd encouraged him whenever they'd phoned or texted. Also, Chez and Daphne; Jason, Steve, Eclipse, and everyone else at Arrius—even Victoria, who often got on his last nerve—they'd all played a part in getting him that far. Edward made a mental note to thank every person; well, those he could. He'd wished, again, that Elizabeth and Lou had been around to witness his achievement.

That afternoon, just before he'd boarded his flight, Eva called with news that Beautiful Home was still moving up in the rankings, and that views for the video had increased astronomically. "It will go viral over the weekend," she'd predicted. On the plane, Edward finally relaxed. He'd smiled at the attendant, wordlessly declining her offer of a pre take-off drink. He didn't feel like answering another question. Then, as soon as they were airborne, he'd reclined his seat, shut his eyes, and slept for most of the five-hour flight.

 **. . . . .**

"I've missed this," Edward had murmured as he held Bella close, his thumb lazily stroking her naked breast.

"What?" she asked, her voice sounding as languorous as her body felt.

"Being with you…here," he said, kissing her temple.

"Well, it misses you too. _I_ miss you," Bella told him and then, trying to dismiss the thought that he'd be leaving again, said, "You know, my bed's bigger and much more comfortable."

Edward snorted. "Yeah; like I could get it up with Charlie listening."

She swatted his chest playfully. "There's a floor between their room and mine now!"

Edward smiled because Bella had, at Renee's suggestion, moved bedrooms. He didn't know the details of the conversation—conversations most likely—that had ended in Charlie agreeing to their sleeping arrangements, but he'd known by Charlie's expression when Bella offered to show Edward to 'our room' that his change of heart hadn't come easily.

Upstairs, he and Bella had practically tackled each other. Edward had kissed her passionately; he'd rolled his hips, ground himself against her but, despite both his and her overwhelming need, had refused to take things further. "Later," he'd groaned as she palmed the front of his jeans. "Your parents are waiting."

"You're so going to pay for leaving me hanging!" she'd threatened, and then, she'd slowly and deliberately run her hand from his torso to his zipper, provocatively palmed his erection, before retreating to recline seductively on the bed. Edward had laughed despite his discomfort.

"I created a sex monster—a _loud_ monster," he teased.

"You did," Bella confirmed, "and I _can_ be quiet," she pouted.

" _Later_ ," Edward repeated and then, smiling wider, said, "and no, you can't keep quiet." He leaned down and gently bit her bottom lip, then, in an attempt to douse his arousal, unpacked his bag. Fifteen minutes later, he and Bella had returned downstairs.

Edward had felt sure Charlie, who'd watched their entry closely, would pull him aside, warn him like he had when he and Bella first started dating, but he hadn't. He hadn't after the dinner Renee had cooked to welcome Edward home when she and Bella left to get coffee, and not at breakfast the next morning. Charlie had, in fact, welcomed Edward and expressed interest in his music—something Carlisle had never done. "How do the words…the tunes…come to you?" Charlie asked.

"I write what I'm feeling or thinking about people or things—stuff that happens to me. My music, the tunes as you called it, reflects how those experiences make me feel," Edward answered.

Charlie, ever the rational businessman, hadn't been satisfied. "Yes, but how do you actually compose? This single you've released; it's about Bella? How did you write that?" he asked, so Edward explained how, despite finding a new family after Elizabeth's death, he'd still felt lonely. "Nothing and no one made me feel better… until Bella. Even in the beginning, when we were just friends, she made me feel good—and then I fell in love with her," he said, looking at Bella.

She'd blushed and squeezed his hand she'd been holding. Renee, predictably, had 'oohed' and 'aahed'. Charlie, however, had simply nodded, his eyes softening as he surveyed Edward and Bella. To him, it became apparent just how much they loved each other. 'So what if he's not a goddamned doctor?' he'd thought.

When he and Renee had said good night, Charlie had grimaced. Just because he'd acknowledged that Edward loved his daughter didn't mean he'd accepted the idea of them having sex. And Edward, after they'd brushed their teeth, suggested that he and Bella sleep in the tree house. He'd still felt uncomfortable about making love to Bella in her parents' house, so they'd changed into sweats and left for the tree house.

There, Bella delivered on her promise of retribution. She took the initiative, told him to strip. She ramped up his excitement by not allowing him to touch her while she slowly removed her clothes. Bella sank to her knees, pleasured and teased him, bringing him to the brink time and time again only to deny him before, finally, Edward had loosened her hands from his thighs, lifted her onto the daybed and buried himself in her.

The next morning, Saturday, when they woke, Edward checked, and Beautiful Home was still trending upward. He and Bella checked frequently, and each time they did, the single had gained in the charts. They'd met Esme and Alice for lunch, and Alice had practically vibrated with excitement.

"Thanks for sending me the links; they're both _amazing_ ," she'd said about the record and video. I've played them to all my friends," she'd gushed as they exchanged greetings.

"Everyone thinks you're hot, and the video too," she told Edward before turning to Bella. "They say you're beautiful, Bella. They're jealous!" she exclaimed without drawing breath.

"Let Edward and Bella speak," Esme, laughing, admonished her daughter.

Edward smiled indulgently at his half-sister. "I'm glad you like it, Shrimp," he said handing over a specially signed CD. His ears had warmed when offering another to Esme. "I wasn't sure if you'd want one," he'd said almost apologetically. "Of course, Edward. _Thank_ you." Esme leaned across the table to hug him. "I'll treasure it always, and now I don't have to wait for Alice to play hers. Not that I had to wait long; she's played it almost non-stop," she said, and although he'd wondered about Carlisle's reaction to being bombarded with his music, Edward hadn't mentioned him. In fact, no one had, except, on one occasion, when Alice had talked about a trip they'd made to an art gallery.

That night, he and Bella met Jake and some of Edward's other North Philly friends at a pub. Bella had also invited Erin, her boyfriend, Ethan, and two other college students Hayley and Julian. For a large part of the night, conversation revolved around Edward's music and, again, he'd answered dozens of questions about his album and life in Los Angeles.

Julian, when he'd learned about Edward's interviews with college radio stations, asked if he'd be visiting their campus. "No," Edward said and when Julian asked why, replied," I don't know, but the promotions guys know their stuff, so there must be a reason."

"You were one of us; you should visit," Julian argued. Edward explained that the Arrius promotions staff arranged his interviews and that campus interviews had been conducted remotely. Julian, however, had persisted and, although he wouldn't commit, Edward decided to ask Eva.

For the rest of the night, with Bella beside him and in the company of their friends, Edward had truly relaxed. Usually taciturn, he'd talked and laughed freely and drank more than he had in a long time because as Jake had insisted, 'releasing a record's fucking huge!" He and Bella returned home in the early hours, fell into bed, and slept in until mid-morning. They woke in time for the brunch that Renee had also invited the Cullens to. Bella had been angry when discovering that she'd included Carlisle in the invitation.

"I'm sorry," Bella had apologized to Edward. "Mom was out of line, but, in her defense, she was trying to help."

"I know," Edward comforted her. "It's alright, Baby; he won't come."

"Bella hugged him tightly because, despite Edward's nonchalant response, she'd detected his hurt.

Carlisle, as Edward had predicted, hadn't appeared. Edward overheard Esme apologizing to Renee. "He got called in for an emergency consult," she'd explained, and Edward had mentally scoffed. He'd heard Carlisle use that excuse too many times and too glibly to believe it.

Later, Esme, who'd seen Edward walk away, had pulled him aside. "He cares, sweetheart; he's just too proud and stubborn."

"Well, _I_ no longer care, Es. I'm sorry if it upsets you, but that's the truth."

She'd smiled sadly. "You're more alike than either of you can see or will admit. I just hope you both see sense before it's too late." Renee had interrupted then, and Edward had been grateful for not having to respond.

Later, Edward and Bella spent time in their tree house, and by Sunday evening, when they'd checked Billboard + Twitter, Beautiful Home had ranked number seven. He and Bella flew to New York on Monday, and, as soon as they'd checked into the hotel, Edward called Eva to ask about doing an interview with Penn's radio station. She'd championed the idea. "We only left campus stations off your trip because of time constraints," she'd explained. "I'll set it up," Eva promised and, less than thirty minutes later, called back to confirm the interview for Thursday morning at eleven. Bella had then called Erin, who'd agreed to tell Julian.

When Edward left for his first interview, Bella had wandered the area surrounding their hotel. When it was time, she hailed a cab and met Edward outside the studio. They found a coffee shop. There, Bella received a cryptic text from Julian. _'Tell him to bring his guitar,_ ' it read.

She tried phoning him, but her call went to message bank. "He's probably in class," she'd told Edward.

"Don't worry about it; I'll just take the guitar," he replied.

They left the coffee shop and, hand-in-hand, wandered New York's streets until they'd hailed another cab for Edward's second interview. Bella waited in the reception while Edward answered questions on air. Afterward, they did more sightseeing, and then returned to their hotel room where they made love, ordered room service, and later, made love again.

The next morning, Tuesday, they left for Boston, and by that night, when boarding their flight to Philadelphia, Beautiful Home ranked fourth in the charts. On Wednesday afternoon, with his two radio station interviews done, the song ranked third. For the first time, despite the many predictions and everyone else's confidence, Edward believed it could reach number one.

The next morning, accompanied by Bella, Edward visited his old campus. He'd asked Bella do the interview with him. She'd, naturally, resisted, but moments into the interview, when the presenters, Chris and Amanda, learned that she'd inspired Beautiful Home, they'd insisted on Bella's presence. Reticent at first, she grew more and more comfortable as she answered questions; first, about her studies at Penn, and then her relationship with Edward.

Amanda asked, "Were you happy for him to go to LA?"

"I hated our separation; I still do, but it was and remains necessary to achieve his dream," Bella answered.

"So you weren't upset or jealous about the woman in the video?" she pressed.

"No; he wrote the song for me, and well…there was no other woman."

"That's _you_ in the video?" Amanda asked, her voice an octave higher.

"Yes," Bella answered. Edward smiled at the admission because she had, until then, been reluctant to disclose her part in the video. What he hadn't realized was that he'd also, no doubt due to Bella's presence, been more laid back and forthcoming in that interview than any other.

Chris, having noticed Edward's guitar case, asked if he'd play something other than Beautiful Home. He played Unapologetically Me.

" _Wow_! Masen, that's awesome," Amanda, exclaimed as the last notes faded away. "Is that also off your new album?" Chris asked.

"Yes; and that's the first time anyone other than Bella and a handful of people at my record company have heard it," Edward confirmed.

Later, as they'd left the studio to meet up with Bella's friends, he'd teased her about the video confession. "I thought you didn't want people to know?"

Bella blushed. "She tricked me," she answered sheepishly, and Edward laughed out loud.

She smacked his arm. "Shut it, Mr. Rock Star. Not everyone's as comfortable being interviewed as you are!" He drew her into his arms and kissed her. "Where did Erin say we should meet?" he asked.

"Outside the bookstore on Walnut Street," Bella said and, a few minutes later when nearing the area, both she and Edward were surprised by the unusually large numbers of people. Every chair surrounding the tables dotted around the courtyard had been occupied, and those unable to find seating had gathered around the perimeter.

"Bella!" someone called, and they turned to see Erin and Julian.

"What's going on?" Bella asked when they'd reached the pair.

"This!" Julian said, handing her a bright yellow flyer. Edward and Bella stared at the photo, a still shot from the Beautiful Home video. A heading, in bold type, read:

 **Masen**

 **Penn's Own Music Sensation**

 **Live Appearance**

The date, location, time, and the link to the video appeared below. At once protective, Bella had glared at her friends. "You could have _asked_ ," she hissed before turning to Edward. "You don't have to do this," she'd said and tugged at his hand, wanting them to leave.

He stroked her cheek, calming her. "It's okay, Bella."

"Edward—"

"Baby; it's fine," he repeated and kissed her mouth before he spoke to Julian. "Let's do this," he said.

Julian beamed, and while Erin, mouthing apologies, had guided Bella to a nearby table to join Hayley and Ethan, he'd led Edward to the one empty seat, a circular bench set under a tree in the center of the courtyard. Edward sat, slipped his Martin from its case, and checked the tuning before he and Julian exchanged a few words. Julian stood on the bench to address the crowd. "Masen, everyone!" he'd excitedly announced, and Edward, without addressing his audience, started by playing Unapologetically Me. At the end, spellbound during his performance, his audience clapped enthusiastically. Many whistled and hooted their appreciation.

Edward waited until the applause had died down, and in the hush that followed, looked up at Bella. He smiled, that devastating smile, the one meant only for her. Bella blushed, and her heart raced, brimming over with love and pride. "For you, Baby," Edward announced as he played the opening chords for Beautiful Home.

He performed for forty minutes—three more songs from the album, the others, songs he'd written over the years. He thanked Penn students for coming out to hear him and everyone else who'd stayed to listen. "It means so much to be singing here for you in Philly," he concluded.

Julian, up on the chair once more, thanked Edward. "Masen had no idea I'd arranged this; he's a champ," he said. "If you haven't already bought his single or checked out the video; you're missing out. And for those who are waiting for the digital version; it comes out this weekend!"

Edward stored his guitar, and when he stood, found himself surrounded by people, answering questions. Many, mostly women, wanted his autograph. Edward readily obliged and after a while, when it seemed the circle around him wouldn't thin, looked for Bella. He found her, standing back with her friends. He smiled, a silent apology, but she shook her head, smiling back encouragement. "I love you," Edward mouthed before a woman, baring her shoulder for his signature, demanded his attention.

"You'd better get used to that," Hayley warned Bella.

"For Edward, writing and performing his music is what matters. The fans," she gestured to where he was now talking to a male, "is the result of his success. If I begrudge him that then I have no business being with him," she'd answered.

Hayley smiled, acknowledging Bella's response, but, knowing what she did about cheating celebrities, musicians especially, thought her foolish.

The crowd eventually dispersed, and Edward returned to Bella's side. He kissed her sweetly. "Thanks for being so patient," he said.

"No problem," she answered, kissing him in return. They joined their friends for coffee, both happy and content, but that performance, and Edward's interaction with his audience after, had been only a taste of what his life would become—the pressures they both would face.

That night, Edward's last before leaving, he took Bella to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants, an Italian place with only sixteen tables. Later, when arriving home, they had, again, spent a passion-filled night in their tree house. The following morning, the couple said an emotional goodbye before Edward boarded his flight for Chicago. At three o'clock that afternoon, an hour earlier than scheduled, he left the city. While in the air, Beautiful Home reached number one on the Billboard chart.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading. As always, I'd like to welcome new readers and thank you for your support. To my loyal readers; my gratitude remains undiminished. Thank you.**

 **To my dear friend, Melissa, a proud Philadelphian;** a special **thanks for helping me with navigating Penn campus**

 **Shenda x**


	12. Chapter 12

**Twilight characters and related properties are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original story, plot lines, and characters belong to FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Ten**

The craziness that would become Edward's new life had started almost as soon as he landed back in Los Angeles. He'd turned on his phone to find at least a dozen messages with news about and expressions of congratulations on his song's hit status. He'd heard from James, Liam, and Alec; also Eva, Jason, Mitch and several others at Arrius, including Victoria. She'd left several messages, the last, suggesting a celebratory dinner. Edward texted, thanking her but declining— _Tired and want an early night_ , he wrote. He added a postscript, saying he'd be at Arrius in time for the meeting she'd mentioned before. He also replied to Mitch, Eva, and Jason, thanking them for their congratulatory messages; the others could wait.

At home, he called Bella who, during their conversation, related how, because of his campus interview and performance, the video, and his hit single she'd attained a new and unwelcome level of popularity. "People who ignored me before suddenly want to be my friend," she'd said.

"I'm sorry, Baby," Edward immediately apologized.

"It's not that bad, really; just a pain in the butt. Don't think I'm not proud and happy for you because I am—so proud, and ecstatic," Bella reassured him. She hadn't disclosed that a significant amount of the attention had been negative—hurtful, catty remarks from females reminding her that she'd never hold onto 'someone like Masen'. "Musicians are all man-whores," one had shouted as she walked away. She'd also gained the attention of her male counterparts. Bella found their interest more irritating than hurtful.

She and Edward spoke for another half hour before Bella reluctantly excused herself, saying she had a lot reading to catch up on. "I love you," he reminded her, " and I had the best time."

"I love you too, and I loved our time together," Bella reciprocated before ending the call.

The next morning, at ten, when he left his apartment, Edward found Chez outside, leaning against his limo.

"So, you the big man 'round town now!" his friend greeted him with a smile that split his face. Edward laughed and, letting his gaze roam the length of Chez' body, replied, "Not as big as you!" Laughter rumbled from the big man's throat like thunder rolling across the sky. Chez straightened as Edward neared and unashamedly embraced him in a manly hug. "Congrats! I knew you'd make it," he said.

Smiling broadly, Edward stepped back. "Thanks. Not that I'm not glad to see you, but what're you doing here?" he asked.

"Like I said; you Arrius' new star. Get in," Chez told Edward, who slipped into the front passenger seat. Chez pulled out his phone and made a quick call before getting behind the wheel.

"Congratulations, Masen," Sandy greeted Edward exuberantly upon arrival. "Everyone's waiting in conference room two."

When entering the room, Edward found a roomful of people, who, as if cued, shouted, 'Congratulations!" Aro, smiling wider than Edward had ever seen, stepped forward, pumped his hand and congratulated him. Mitch, Jason, Steve, Liam, Alec, and James, who'd practically yelled, "Fucking awesome!" all clapped him on the back. Eva hugged him, so did Victoria, who clung to him longer than seemly, but Edward, overwhelmed, had barely noticed.

And then, despite the early hour, Aro called for Mitch to break out the champagne. "To Masen—the first of many hits," Aro announced and raised his glass high. Edward thanked him and then acknowledged everyone else for the part they'd played in his success. The rest of the gathering became a blur of conversations to Edward until, a while later, Aro left, and Mitch asked for the room to be cleared. Victoria, Eva, and Lex, the head of distribution, stayed. Then, while people from catering cleared away empty glasses and canapé remains, two men entered the room. Mitch introduced them to Edward as Kevin Jackson, a tour promoter, and John Ashe, his tour manager.

In the ensuing meeting, first, Eva reviewed the results of the promotions for Beautiful Home. "We're getting traction from TV networks now," she said, "so be prepared for more travel, Masen. I'll push the timing to coincide with the album's release."

"We could move the dates forward or back," Lex suggested and, collectively, the group agreed to wait until Eva had pinned down major television shows before deciding a release date.

Next, Mitch announced the concert dates to promote the album. "Twenty cities, two in Canada," he said and produced a list. He hand the discussion over to Kevin and John, who revealed that the tour, scheduled to start eight weeks after the album release date, would last thirty-two days and that they'd perform in two to five thousand-seat venues.

Edward learned that, except for a handful of occasions when distances proved too far to travel overnight, he'd spend the majority of the tour on a bus with the band and support staff. He'd wondered how the hell he'd cope with always being surrounded. "Why not use local crews? Wouldn't it be cheaper?" he'd asked. 'And fewer people around all the time,' he'd thought.

"It's better to have your own crew; trust me," John said. "By the time you hit the road, they'll know you and the band, and they'll be there every step of the way to make sure things run smoothly."

Edward nodded his understanding, then watched and listened as Kevin and John, using a map, explained routes. "Nothing worse than crisscrossing the country, chasing your own ass, " Kevin joked before revealing that the trip would be split into four legs. "West coast venues, including Vancouver, then fly to Toronto; from there, you'll fly to Boston where buses will be waiting to drive you to New York, Philadelphia, and Washington…DC, obviously," he joked again. "You'll fly to Minneapolis, tour the midwest by bus, and then onto the southern regions, ending the tour in Austin. Two buses, one trailer, and four drivers, who'll work shifts—and we've scheduled a rest day after every five shows."

They'd even planned for bad traffic and weather conditions. Edward had been impressed, amazed by the level of detail that went into arranging a tour. It was, he'd decided, a logistical nightmare and felt thankful that others would be handling it. "We'll need plenty more meetings with you, the band, crew, lighting, and stage managers," John announced when they'd finished.

"Masen, there'll be local promotions, too," Eva warned.

Edward left the meeting excited but with his head reeling. Outside, Mitch pulled him aside. "You'll need to sign a tour contract," he said.

"Okay," Edward answered, making a mental note to contact Drew.

For him, the weeks preceding the release of his second single, and then his album, exciting as they'd been, had proven even more exhausting than the lead-up to the release of Beautiful Home. He and Drew had spent a day, reviewing the tour contract, which had, thankfully, been more straightforward than the recording one. His percentage of ticket sales and promotional gear had been healthier than his share of record sales. Sales of CD's sold at the venues would, naturally, attract the same royalties as other record sales.

When not involved in promoting his records, Edward spent endless hours in meetings discussing equipment, lighting, stage set-ups, and planning concert play lists. Unapologetically Me, catapulting off the success of Beautiful Home, raced up the charts and settled at number four. Five weeks after its release, Beautiful Home still held the number one spot, not only on Billboard, but also in the UK, Europe, and Australia. With two singles in the top ten, interest in Edward skyrocketed, and by the time his album, Masen, was released he'd been booked to appear on several top-rating television shows.

The album name hadn't been his suggestion. He'd sent Bella a list of potential titles—none of them Masen—and asked for her opinion. They'd spent hours discussing them and, in the end, had discarded all but one, New Life. "I'm not sure," Edward, disgruntled that his preferred title, This Is Me, had been taken, had said.

"What about Masen?" Bella suggested. "It fits with everything you've done."

"No, it doesn't," he countered.

"Edward, whether subconscious or not; the fact is, every title you came up with, every song you've written, says the same thing—that you're changing your life; or rather, that you're reclaiming it. Isn't that why you chose Masen as a professional name? Why stop there? It's perfect for the album?"

Silence followed her comment as Edward thought. His names, like the album's songs, all reflected changes in his life—some, a natural progression, some, positive; while others speak of tragic and/or life-changing events. Splintered Life reveals his heartbreak and confusion after Elizabeth's death. Talkin' Through Strings, a tribute to Lou, maps another tragic loss and necessary adjustment in his life. Then, of course, there's Beautiful Home that relates the end of his loneliness, finding Bella who, like Elizabeth, Edward felt he truly belonged to and that she belonged to him. Unapologetically Me is, unashamedly, Edward giving Carlisle the finger.

"Edward?" Bella asked, wishing for the millionth time that they were together and not thousands of miles apart so they could talk face-to-face.

"How'd you get so fucking smart?" he, at last, answered.

"By being with you," she'd laughed in relief.

"You don't think it's pretentious?"

"No. Lots of artists have used their name for album titles. Besides, for you, it's like an act of rebellion or something—very rock 'n roll," she'd teased, happy that her earlier comment hadn't upset him.

"You also have a smart mouth. I'll have to fix that when I see you."

"You'd better," Bella responded provocatively.

"Don't start, Baby, or I'll demand you strip and get online."

"Later," she'd promised, knowing they couldn't. Not then, anyway, because Charlie had been away, and she'd promised Renee a movie night.

On Wednesday, the week before the release of Masen, a popular daytime talk show host had interviewed Edward. That night, when speaking to Bella, he told her the host had asked about her.

"What did you tell her?" Bella asked.

"What I tell everyone; that I love you," Edward answered.

"Thank you," she'd said, sounding bashful, and then, before he could respond, asked. "Did she get you to dance with her?"

"Um…no; thank fuck!" he'd snorted a laugh.

"What? You're a good dancer!"

"Yeah, but I don't want to look like a dick. Most people who dance on that show look like dicks!"

"They do not!" Bella protested and then named another musician who'd appeared on the show.

"Well, he started his career singing and dancing," he said. "Anyway, I'll need to be in New York on Monday and Tuesday next week to tape two shows. I thought I'd fly home late on Friday. Come to New York with me?"

"I don't know," I missed quite a few days of class already… maybe—"

Not wanting to compromise her education, Edward stopped Bella. "It's okay. We'll have the weekend together," he'd reassured her.

And they had spent another idyllic two days and nights together before Edward left for New York. He returned to LA to undertake yet another round of radio interviews, finalize tour arrangements, and spend countless hours rehearsing with Eclipse for their concerts. He'd felt tired, dog tired at times, but adrenaline had kept him going. He'd even, on occasion, gone out with the guys after rehearsals, and although he drank a lot when with them, he hadn't ever lost his inhibitions—not the way James seemed prone to do. In fact, James's behavior had, it seemed, grown more outrageous with the success of Edward's records. Even Liam, always more tolerant of his vices had, at times, wondered if James was capable of curbing his behavior.

Edward's television appearances, particularly his live performance on a hugely popular comedy show, watched by millions worldwide, which aired just days before the release of his album had generated significant buzz. Masen, like its two lead singles before it, also moved up quickly in the charts. Eight weeks later, by the time the Masen Concert Tour kicked off in Los Angeles, the album had already held the number one spot for three weeks. It maintained its position until an album by an iconic pop-diva replaced it at the top. The album dropped to number two and stayed in the top five for ten weeks, and two more singles from the album also made it onto the Billboard + Twitter charts.

 **. . . . .**

"Thank fuck," Edward muttered as their bus crossed into New York State because, instead of being cramped in with eleven others, he'd be spending the next three nights with Bella. He'd missed her, he always did, but he'd longed for Bella more over the past week than ever before. They'd talked on the phone as often, they'd even FaceTimed; but their conversations had lacked their usual intimacy—not only the sexual aspects, though he'd missed that too. 'Fuck,' Edward cursed again, this time mentally, when thinking about how long it had been since he'd touched Bella.

He thought of the night before when he'd, again, had to listen to James fuck someone. Edward had felt disgust and anger at the blatant disregard for anyone else's discomfort, but he also couldn't help feeling aroused. He was, after all, a twenty-one-year old male.

Thirteen days into their tour, seven cities, and ten concerts in and, already, he'd had several arguments with James. The first had been about respecting the space they were forced to share. "Would you at least try to be fucking discreet?" Edward had yelled in Vancouver when, exhilarated yet tired after their performance, he'd passed James' bunk and saw him pounding into a naked girl. The prick hadn't even drawn the privacy curtain. James hadn't stopped, hadn't been embarrassed or apologetic. Instead, he'd shot Edward a taunting grin. "Want some? I don't mind sharing," he'd offered. "Fuck off!" Edward said and returned to the lounge area where Liam, Alec, John, and some others who shared their bus were sitting. He accepted the beer offered.

Another disagreement happened during an autograph session when Edward had ignored a fan's sexual overture. James had, of course, thought him nuts. "You're a fucking star now—what the hell's wrong with you?" he'd demanded.

"I have a girlfriend; have you fucking forgotten?" Edward retaliated.

"So?" James had sounded incredulous. "She won't know; what happens on tour stays on tour. Right?" he'd turned to those present—Liam, Alec, and a couple of roadies. There'd been a mumbling of assent.

Many on tour indulged in sex; Edward knew that. Sex was natural and inevitable when red-blooded people of both sexes were thrown together for an extended time. Liam, Alec, even John, Edward had noticed, had hooked up with a fan or two. Many in the crew had openly declared their 'fuck buddy, status. Edward didn't have a problem with any of it, except for his own, growing sexual frustration. He wasn't a monk. 'Fuck no,' he'd scoffed when remembering his behavior before he and Bella started dating.

Later that night, James brought a girl onto the bus; a direct challenge Edward had felt. He'd smirked as he led her to his bunk. He fucked her within meters of his travel companions, and then, when their driver gave the usual ten-minute warning before take off, he'd slapped her ass, showed her out, and shut the door. That episode had resulted in yet another of Edward and James' altercations on the subject.

"I don't care what you do; just don't do it on the goddam bus," Edward had demanded, and James had scoffed. "Not gonna happen, so you better get used to it," he said. And Edward had—well, he'd tolerated it—except for those occasions when he'd found James' actions especially repugnant.

The fact is, that some situations were hard to avoid, especially when twelve people shared a forty-five-foot space without reprieve. And for Edward, a touring novice and someone who, since his experience in foster care, had become somewhat of a loner, spending every hour—waking and sleeping—so close to others had been especially testing. He'd learned things about his companions that he most definitely did not want to know.

Other than the lack of privacy, boredom proved the hardest part of being stuck on a bus. Edward and his fellow passengers filled their hours while traveling through the night, talking, listening to music, watching television, playing cards, and, most often, especially immediately after their concerts and still too wound up to sleep, drinking. He, the band, and many of the support crew who shared their bus stayed up for most of the night, so their days and nights were reversed. For Edward, who'd also had promotional obligations, lack of sleep and his altered sleep pattern became just another part of his new and crazy life.

At times, he'd wished he could swap buses, travel with the roadies, who because they needed to unload and set up equipment almost as soon as they reached their next destination, slept during the night.

While he abhorred his loss of privacy and often bemoaned the lack of sleep, Edward enjoyed the camaraderie, the friends he'd made among the crew. He admired how everyone, roadies, light and sound technicians, every member of their team from those responsible for merchandising to the person who organized his and the band's laundry and dry cleaning, pulled together each day to produce a successful show.

Three hours after Edward crossed the state line between Massachusetts and New York, Bella landed at JFK. In the cab, traveling to their hotel, she sent him a text, _Arrived. See you soon._ A moment later, she received a reply. A smiley face and a message, which read, _Perfect timing. Half an hour away. Can't wait._

Bella arrived first and sat in the lobby to wait. Ten minutes turned into twenty, and twenty into thirty-five. She resisted the urge to send another text. She'd been staring at her phone when, suddenly, a commotion outside made her look up just as the longest bus she'd ever seen pulled up outside the entrance. Shiny black with the words, Masen Concert Tour emblazoned on the side in red, it caught the attention of everyone in its vicinity.

A door near the front opened, and Edward, holding a duffel bag and a guitar case slung over his shoulder, emerged. He laughed at something someone inside the bus had said before he hurried through the hotel doors. Inside, he stopped, his eyes searching anxiously until his gaze met Bella's. For a moment, suspended in time, they stared, both hearts skipping a beat before racing. Edward moved forward, and Bella stood. He dropped his bags at her feet, one hand wrapping around the nape of her neck, the other encircling her waist as he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. And then, realizing where they were, reluctantly drew back, his eyes devouring her flushed face.

"I missed you, Baby; so fucking much," he said, his voice strained with emotion. Bella, also overcome, answered. "I missed you too."

"Come; let's check in," Edward said, and picked up his bags. "Do you need help?" he asked, glancing at Bella's small suitcase.

"No; it's got wheels," she answered. He grasped her hand and led the way to the reception area.

Bella watched as the receptionist shot Edward flirtatious glances. He appeared oblivious. "Cullen; reservation for a deluxe room," he told the woman. Bella raised an eyebrow. For some reason, perhaps because of his conspicuous arrival, she'd expected him to use his professional name. He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm with you," he said, and Bella's heart twisted with love and, if she were honest, enormous relief because, despite the incredible changes in his life, his growing fame, he was still Edward, her friend and the boy she fell in love with.

"You look pretty," he told her while the receptionist processed their check-in. "I wanted to look nice for you," she answered, touching her dress. Edward leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "You're not nice; you're fucking beautiful—always; doesn't matter what you wear… or _not_." He'd nipped her ear and then smiled, knowing the effect both his words and that little bite had had on her. He'd meant it, though, every word, because to him, Bella was the most beautiful, both inside and out.

The pair had practically vibrated with impatience when discovering the elevator they'd summoned occupied. Edward punched their floor number more forcefully than necessary, and Bella smiled when their eyes met. She'd understood, shared, his need to be alone. In their room, Edward kicked the door shut, dropped his bags and pressed her against the door. Their kisses were heated, their hands frantic as they clawed at each other's clothes.

He hoisted her leg over his hip, never more thankful that Bella had chosen to wear a dress. He slipped his fingers into her underwear and cursed when he felt her hot, moist flesh. Bella moaned as Edward teased her sensitive nub. "More?" he whispered in her ear.

"Yes," she sighed her response. Bella's entire body shuddered as she climaxed. Edward kissed her deeply. Still trembling, she stroked the bulge in his jeans, but when she tried to unbutton it, Edward stopped her.

"Let's shower. I want to wash the road off me." In the bathroom, Edward had lovingly soaped and washed Bella, and she did the same for him, and then, dropping to her knees, she reciprocated.

That night Bella watched from the wings as Edward played. He glanced at Bella often, smiled his happiness at having her there. The band picked up on his mood; they played out of their skins. The audience, just over six thousand people, also responded. They clapped and shouted their appreciation so long and so loud that Bella felt sure that, by the next day, they'd have sore hands and throats. Edward left Beautiful Home for last. "My girl is here tonight," he announced to loud cheers. He faced Bella fully. "This one, as always, is for you, Baby," he said.

He and the band performed two ten-minute encores before finally, he thanked the audience, wished them a safe journey home before he, James, Liam, and Alec left the stage. Sweaty and high on adrenaline, he kissed Bella soundly and led her to the dressing room. "You were amazing," she told him, her smile nearly breaking her face.

"Thank you," Edward answered and kissed her again. He and the others discarded their wet t-shirts, and, as Edward pulled yet another, signature black one over his head, Bella, who'd retired to a leather sofa in the corner, watched and absorbed the part of his life that, so far, had been hidden from her.

"I just need to sign autographs," Edward said, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand when he joined her.

"Do your thing," she replied easily. "I'll be here when you're done."

A crewmember, a burly man with dark stubble, popped his head in the door, and when Liam nodded, opened it wide. Within minutes the dressing room filled with fans, mostly females, Bella noted—females who stared at Edward with hungry eyes and touched him with grabby hands. He and the band were soon surrounded, and when Bella lost sight of Edward, she watched the other musicians. They chatted, laughed, and signed exposed body parts as easily as they did CDs and clothing.

James' chest had been naked; he hadn't bothered with replacing his t-shirt. He sported a bolt through his nipple and didn't object when the women touched and tugged at it. In fact, he'd encouraged them. He'd caught Bella watching and smiled. Well, he'd practically leered. Bella averted her eyes; she disliked James even more.

Half an hour had passed, and Bella had wondered how they'd empty the room of the dozens of eager fans. Her question had been answered when the big guy reappeared and started shepherding people out. Some women, she'd noticed, remained despite his actions. Three gravitated to James, two joined Alec, and Liam had his arm around another's waist. A few hung around outside the dressing room door, chatting to crewmembers. Bella had watched Edward extricate himself from the women still surrounding him.

"Ready?" he asked Bella, lightly kissing her mouth.

"Sure," she answered. "Are you done?"

"Yeah; let's get out of here." Edward offered his hand and grabbed his guitar cases.

"Sure you don't want to join the party, Mase? Bella can come too!" James yelled out as they left. Edward had scowled at James, but he'd chosen not to respond.

"What party?" Bella asked Edward in the limo he'd arranged to drive them to the hotel.

"There's no party. Usually, after the fans leave, we go back to the bus and hang out until we're ready to fall asleep."

"What about the girls who were still there? Do they go back to the bus too?"

"No," Edward sighed, frustrated by the position James had put him in. "I'm not going to lie. Shit happens on the road. The guys hook up with girls. Usually, they do whatever before they return to the bus. James…well, James has brought one or two girls onto the bus. Alec has too, but he's more discreet. The women never travel with us because we don't often spend more than one night in a place.

"Bella, I don't do that shit," Edward, seeing her frown, said. "I would never do that to you; you know that don't you? I talk to my fans, I sign autographs, I pose for photos, and that's it."

"I trust you, Edward, but things are changing so fast, I—"

He cut her off with an ardent kiss. "Never, Bella," he insisted, and she believed him.

Back at the hotel, in their intimate cocoon, Bella forgot her uneasiness, and she'd felt better, later, when Edward had offered her the chance to experience life on the bus for herself. "I don't want to spend a moment more cramped in there than I have to, but if you want to see for yourself, we could travel to Philly on the bus," he'd said.

She'd thought for a moment. "No thanks," she'd replied. "Although, I'd like to have a tour of it."

"Sure," Edward promised. "Tomorrow, or when we get to Philly."

"Are you the only one staying at a hotel?"

"Liam, and John also, I think. New York and Philly are the only cities where two shows were planned, so no one thought to book hotels. Having you here was an added incentive for me."

"Well, I'm glad I came. You really were incredible tonight—well, according to the reviews, all your concerts have been amazing."

"I love performing live, but it's extra special when you're there," Edward told her.

The audience at the second New York concert had been just as enthusiastic, and later, when confronted by the post show dressing room, Bella had clung to her belief in Edward.

In Philadelphia, at the first concert, Alice, her friend Livvy, Erin and the Penn gang, and Jake and his latest girlfriend, Jess, who Edward had gotten tickets for, had all attended, so Bella had sat in the audience. The audience, Edward's hometown fans went wild—wilder than any of his audiences before—chanting Masen, Masen between songs. Experiencing the crowd's emotions up close, Bella had understood what Edward meant when he'd described the potency of energy he received from the audience, how addictive it could become.

On the second night, Alice, who'd begged for a ticket to the Darby concert too, had attended; and much to both Edward and Bella's shock and delight, Esme and Renee had also insisted being there. Bella chose, on both nights, to sit in the audience. There, she'd experienced the crowd's emotions up close, and she's understood just what Edward meant when he'd described the energy he received from the audience, how addictive, it could become. Alice screamed loudest and longest, and announced to almost anyone who'd listen, "That's my brother. Masen's my _brother_!" And when Edward again dedicated his performance of Beautiful Home to Bella and acknowledged, without pointing them out, his family in the audience, Esme and Renee nearly matched Alice's excitement.

They'd even insisted on going backstage. "To get the full experience," Renee said. There, both she and Esme lined up with Edward's other fans. Alice later swore she'd seen Esme push a girl who'd gotten too handsy with Edward. Seeing women bare body parts, Renee had him sign her wrist. For weeks after, the two mothers, who'd probably never attended a rock concert in decades, if ever, spoke of little else. Charlie, with his dry sense of humor, swore Renee had damaged her eardrums. "Probably from your own screaming," he'd said.

Edward, who'd initially decided to leave Philadelphia on the bus, chose instead to spend an extra night with Bella. He'd driven home with her, Renee, and his family, and the next day, mid-morning, he'd boarded a flight to Washington DC. For the first time, Bella had cried when they parted. "Shhh, Baby," Edward spoke through the lump in his throat. "We'll see each other soon. We're nearly halfway through the tour; things will settle down, and I'll come home to work on the next album."

"I'm being stupid," Bella sniffed. "Ignore me."

"Never," Edward assured her, and then, glancing at the flight board, sighed. "I have to go, Bella. I'm sorry," he said, kissed her soundly, and left.

 **. . . . .**

Edward viewed his life on the road in two parts—the pleasurable and the barely tolerable—and each day he had to live through both. He didn't have a choice because, for him, performing live meant pure pleasure. And, for him to experience that joy, to interact with audiences across the country and, hopefully, the world, he has to travel.

He loves every aspect of making music; the solitude and peace of composing and writing are for him, a meditative process. The collaborative nature, the learning, when recording fills yet another creative need in him—but playing onstage, is like walking a tightrope without a net. There, he feels exposed and vulnerable, with no place to hide. With every live performance, he hopes, desperately, that he'll succeed in connecting with his audience, and when he does, the adrenaline rush he feels is almost crippling in its force.

Edward wouldn't be human if he didn't also enjoy at least some aspects of the adulation of fans. While on tour, with a hit album and two singles ranked in the top five, with the triumph of each concert, his fan base grew, and their adulation, especially the females', reached fever-pitch. He hadn't even minded the sexual overtures. He looked, he admired; signed autographs, posed for photos, and found the women, beautiful though many of them had been, easy to resist. Edward believed that interaction was part of the unwritten, unspoken agreement between artists and fans.

The parts of touring that he found particularly unbearable were the lack of privacy and boredom. When not sleeping, actively engaged in preparing for their nightly shows, or performing, there's very little constructive to do, especially when stuck on a bus traveling.

It's accepted, in the music industry that, when on tour, rock stars sleep less, drink and smoke more, and if they're prone to using drugs, do more of that too. The slide into bad behavior is insidious.

The more the promoters crammed into Edward's schedule, the more exhausted he became; the more the lack of privacy affected him, and the further he moved from the life that had grounded him, the more Edward slid into to the stereotypical tour life.

A couple of beers to unwind after a show progressively turned into half a dozen, and the one bourbon someone suggested would relax him quicker, became many because he hadn't noticed his glass being consistently refilled. The occasional joint turned into one a night, then two, and so on. Edward graduated from being pleasantly stoned or drunk to teetering on the verge of being smashed most nights after performing. The one vice he hadn't bought into, no matter how great the temptation, had been promiscuity. Unlike James, even Liam, Alec, and many crewmembers who screwed around, Edward stayed faithful to Bella. He called her, texted regularly, and maintained contact through FaceTime. On occasion, depending on when he'd called, she'd detected that he'd been drinking more heavily than usual. Bella had simply attributed those instances to him 'letting loose a little.'

On the twenty-seventh day on the road, in the afternoon, Victoria had turned up unexpectedly in Nashville. She'd found Edward lying on his bunk. "You look like shit," she'd greeted him.

"Thanks," Edward said. He didn't bother sitting up. "What're you doing here?"

"Thought I'd catch a concert," she smiled, leaning onto his bed.

"You were at both concerts in LA," he reminded her.

"Well, I wanted to check on you and the guys. How're things?"

"We're playing to packed houses; even the extra shows have sold out. How do you think things are going?"

"I heard; it's great. You look like hell, though. Are you overdoing it?"

"Of _course_ , I'm overdoing it. Everyone's overdoing it!" Edward had snapped, his temper flaring. "What do you expect? We've played six extra concerts, I'm supposed to turn up at the opening of a fucking envelope, and I'm stuck on this _fucking_ bus, with no peace and quiet!"

"Why not check into my hotel and take a plane in the morning?" Victoria suggested.

Tempted, Edward asked. "Who else?"

"No one; just you and me. You can relax and rest after the concert," she'd answered, her voice persuasive.

"Just me?" Edward sat up, wondering if he'd imagined the inflection in the way she'd said relax.

"Isn't that the point; to get away from everyone?"

"I'll stay here," Edward said.

"Why?" Victoria asked, sounding irritated.

"It's only five more nights, and then I'll fly home to Philly to rest," Edward answered.

"Philly?" Victoria's eyes narrowed.

"Philly,"

"You have other obligations, Masen. Have you talked to Eva?"

"I have, and we've agreed that I need rest before doing more interviews."

Victoria had huffed and stormed off. She'd avoided Edward for the remainder of the day, although, she'd been present everywhere—at their sound check, in their bus when they were getting ready for the concert. And then, after the show, in the dressing room and outside the venue where he'd signed autographs and posed for photos with fans, he'd sensed her watching him. Later, at a local bar, having a drink with his traveling companions before they'd hit the road, she'd been there—still watching.

Victoria had left before they had, and Edward had no idea who had given her a lift to her hotel. The next day, when they arrived in New Orleans, she'd been there, apparently, recovered from her fit of pique. She'd sought Edward out, and, on several occasions, she'd either commented on his evident tiredness or expressed concern. "You know, if you need something to keep you going, there's stuff that can help," she'd said. "I'm okay," Edward insisted.

"Well, at least eat something," she'd said and produced a bag of burgers. The guys had all crowded round her, and Victoria had removed a box and handed it to Edward before letting James rummage in the bag.

"Why suddenly so domesticated?" James pointedly asked as he bit into the bun.

"Why so damned ungrateful?" Victoria responded acidly.

"Save the foreplay for later, you two," Liam joked, but Victoria glared at him. Edward picked up his food and retired to his bunk to call Bella. Tired, with a thumping headache, he swore he'd lay off the joints and drink less that night. He didn't.

The next day, in Dallas, their second to last stop on tour, just after their sound check when Edward wanted to call Bella, he found his phone missing.

"Where did you last have it?" Carly, a sound engineer, asked when he'd yelled, asking if anyone had seen it.

Edward had stopped and thought. "On the bus," he'd muttered, and left immediately. He'd searched his bunk, his bags, the lounge area, the kitchen, and the bathroom on the bus, but had no success. He even searched through his luggage on the junk bunk, a dumping place for everyone's seldom-used luggage, but he couldn't find it. Edward returned to the theater, checked with James, Liam, Alec, and everyone else present; he'd even asked a runner to check with the roadies and anyone in the vicinity of the buses or venue; still no phone.

By the time they'd returned to their bus to relax before the show, Edward had still been fuming bout the loss of his phone.

"It'll turn up," Victoria, who'd been on the bus when they arrived, said when she'd learned what had happened.

On that same day, in Philadelphia at three-thirty in the afternoon, at the time Edward had been at the sound check, Bella had sat in a coffee shop with Erin.

"So, how's Edward?" Erin asked.

"Pumped, exhausted, frustrated," Bella rattled off her response.

"Pumped and exhausted, I understand, but frustrated?" Erin raised an eyebrow as she'd forked chocolate cake into her mouth.

"We miss each other, and he's wanted me to visit him for weeks now."

"So, why haven't you?"

"Erin; you know my workload—" Bella sounded incredulous, but her friend cut her off.

"Good, God, woman! Edward's made a lot of effort to see you in the past; you should reciprocate. Where's he now? "

"Dallas tonight and Austin tomorrow."

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Bella asked.

"Surprise him!" Erin said as if she'd stated the obvious.

"I can't—besides, the tour ends in Austin, and he promised he'd fly home from there."

"See—again, _he's_ flying to see you. Do something special for him. Surprise him in tonight. Book a flight, a hotel room, meet him in Dallas and fly to Austin with him, then come home together!"

"I can't… besides, look at the time—"

"Besides, besides," Erin interjected again. "Come on, Swan, where's your spunk? Where's the future kick-ass lawyer?

"I've got your back—I'll make sure you catch up with classes. You can be home in an hour. Shave your legs, pack, whatever. I'll book your flight and hotel. I'll even drive you to the airport. What time's Edward's show start, and what time do they normally leave for their next concert?"

"Nine, and around one'ish, sometimes later," Bella answered, her mind swirling with possibilities.

"Okay; we're an hour ahead, and the flight to Dallas is…" Erin had already discarded her fork and had been tapping away on her phone. "three hours, and they're one hour behind," Erin concluded. "If your plane leaves at eight, you'll get there around ten Dallas time. Give or take another hour or so to check in and get to the concert; plenty of time!" She stopped and stared at Bella expectantly. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Nothing," Bella answered, jumping into action.

"I'll text the details and pick you up in time to make your flight," Erin said as they hugged and parted ways.

Charlie, of course, hadn't yet been home, and Renee had immediately assured Bella that she'd 'handle your father'. Less than half an hour after stepping into her house, Bella received a text from Erin, which read: _Fly at 7.30. Magnolia Deluxe Room—Daddy can afford it!_ She'd added a smiley face, and then ended with, _cu at 6._

Since leaving the coffee shop, Bella had phoned Edward four times. Every call had all gone to voicemail. In the end, she'd texted to let him know she'd be arriving either before or during the concert. Pack a bag; you're mine for the night, she'd ended the message and then, to be more provocative, she'd added a winking face.

By the time Bella's plane took off, she still hadn't heard from Edward.

Onstage, that night, Edward and James had locked gazes. James grinned, "Fuckin' rock'n!" he'd yelled, and although the words had been lost in the noise of instruments and screaming fans, Edward had understood; he'd nodded and smiled in return.

The place, like every other venue, had been pumping. He and the band had experienced wave after wave of energy and adulation. They'd absorbed it all and fed it back, magnified, in their performance. The exchange between musicians and their audience became endless, building and building to a state of near-euphoria.

Edward, bent over his guitar, had sustained the last rebellious chord of Unapologetically Me for ages as the audience stomped and yelled. "Last song," he'd mouthed to James, bringing an end to their second encore. He'd moved effortlessly into the harmonious melody of Talkin with Strings, and James, Liam, and Alec had followed.

Edward ignored the chants of "more, more', and then, as always, he'd thanked their fans and wished them a safe trip home.

Victoria had waited in the dressing room, drinks in hand for them as they'd entered. "Amazing as always," she'd said, her fingers brushing Edward's as she'd handed him his favorite beer.

"Thanks," he said, for both the compliment and the drink.

"Who's this?" James asked using what Liam had once described as his hook-up voice. "You mean his pussy in the house voice?" Alec laughed. "What the hell kind of voice is that?" one of the crew had asked. "The one that flatters the women but says I have a big cock," Alec said.

Edward had looked up and spotted a pretty, dark haired, and curvaceous young woman leaning against the wall of their dressing room, at least, he'd hoped she was a woman, at least, seventeen—it was hard to tell, sometimes, with some of their female fans. They certainly didn't act underage.

"Maggie; we met earlier. She's cool," Victoria answered. Maggie smiled at them all, but her eyes lingered on Edward.

"Hi," he echoed the others' greeting before turning his back to change his t-shirt.

Bella landed in Dallas, a little late, just after ten forty-five that night. She'd checked her phone, and, with no word from Edward, had grabbed a cab and directed the driver to her hotel. She'd wondered if something had gone wrong with the concert or, worse, if something had happened to Edward, but decided that he'd probably just gotten side-tracked and then had to perform.

When the cab arrived at the hotel, Bella asked the driver to wait. She'd checked in, collected her key, and asked the receptionist to have her bag placed in her room. She'd then directed the cab driver to the concert venue before rechecking her phone. Still no message, and the time had read eleven forty.

"How long till we get there?" Bella asked the driver.

"Twenty, twenty-five minutes," he said, and she'd sighed in relief, confident that Edward would either still be at the venue or on the bus, but that thankfully, the bus would not yet have left.

Bella's relief had deepened when nearing the venue, she spotted the two tour buses. The niggle of worry, the small knot in her belly that she'd obstinately ignored, disappeared, replaced by a swarm butterflies.

She'd paid and thanked the driver and stepped out of the cab. A friendly, roadie, a local, who'd, somehow, recognized her, greeted her with a smile.

"Lookin' for Masen?" he asked.

"Yes, please," Bella answered.

"I think they're still in the dressing room. Through that door, turn right and follow the hallway. It's at the end."

"Thanks," she said and followed his directions. She found her way easily and stopped outside the worn, red door. The sign reading 'Dressing Room' told her she was in the right place. The silence from within, however, made her wonder. She opened the door slowly.

Bella's heart stopped and then shattered. Later, much later, when she could talk about that night, she'd sworn she'd heard it break. Bella stood, shocked into immobility at the sight of Edward, his head thrown back, his lips parted, and his eyes shut. His t-shirt had been pushed up, and his abdomen bared. The most crushing sight, though, had been the woman on her knees, her face buried in his crotch.

The woman looked up, and seeing Bella, smiled—as if she'd just heard or witnessed something amusing.

The satisfaction in her eyes galvanized Bella into action. Fighting back the tears that burned to be spilled, the bile rising in her throat, she stumbled back the way she'd come. Outside, just by the door, Victoria stood. Her smile had been even more smug than the woman's in the dressing room. "Bella! Leaving so soon?" she'd asked.

Bella would be eternally grateful for that roadie, who, seeing her distress, had, without asking for an explanation, kindly offered her a lift somewhere. She'd wished, later, that she'd asked his name.

Somehow, she managed to articulate the name of the hotel and, once there, she'd whispered a broken thank you before stumbling from his vehicle. In her room, Bella had only just made it to the bathroom before she'd been violently ill.

She didn't cry; she couldn't cry, although, the sting behind her eyes begged for relief. Instead, she logged onto an airline website and booked a seat on the first plane out of Dallas.

She couldn't sleep; she hadn't for fear of dreaming. And yet, despite her best efforts, Bella had found it impossible to escape the nightmare. The vision of Edward and that woman would be etched in her memory for the longest time.

* * *

 **Take care; until next time,**

 **Shenda** x

 **PS: Between me, Spellcheck and my editing app, we should have caught all mistakes. If I've missed any glaring errors, forgive me. My only excuse, weak as it is, is that it's just gone 4.28 am in Sydney, and I haven't yet slept. I'm about to do so** **as soon as I hit 'post'.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to Shenda Paul, aka FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Eleven**

Edward had woken to the sight of John's smirking face. "The hell?" he'd rasped, wincing. Everything hurt, his head, his eyeballs—his throat. 'When the hell did I swallow a truckful of gravel?' his sluggish brain had wondered.

"You have an interview in an hour," John had smiled, enjoying Edward's discomfort.

"What the fuck happened?" Edward had demanded—well, he'd moaned.

"You tell me, Sleeping Beauty. First, I have to put you to bed, and now I have to get you out!"

Edward had sat up and immediately regretted it. He'd clutched his head, and John had laughed, a loud, raucous bark that made Edward groan in both irritation and pain.

"Here, don't ever say I don't care." John had thrust a bottle of water at him, and Edward grabbed for it in the same way a drowning man would snatch at a lifeline. He'd struggled for a moment before the cap twisted. John sniggered, and Edward scowled at him as he'd greedily guzzled.

"We're in Austin?" he'd asked as he'd lowered the bottle.

"Yes. Don't you remember me dragging your ass onto the bus? You're lucky Joe checked that you were on board, or you'd still be in Dallas," John said, referring to their driver, a jazz enthusiast, Edward had befriended. "He wouldn't do that for anyone else. How much do you remember?"

He'd sniggered again at Edward's puzzled frown. 'Fucker!' Edward had muttered, wishing he'd had the energy to wipe the grin off his tour manager's face.

"Fuck off!" he'd said when John, having heard him, guffawed, and when John, still sniggering, had left, Edward had stumbled from his bunk. He'd frowned again when seeing himself fully clothed except for his boots. He'd thought about the night before, recalled the roar of the crowd when, at the end of their final encore, he'd shouted, "Thank you, Dallas." He'd remembered entering the dressing room, and Victoria handing him a beer, drinking it, and changing his t-shirt. He'd vaguely recalled another female's presence, and he'd remembered signing autographs, but then his memory had become hazy.

"Fuck! I don't have time for this," Edward had muttered when remembering his twelve-thirty radio interview. He'd rummaged for his toiletry bag and clean clothing from the locker at the end of his bunk, and frowned when, sticking out from the end of his mattress, he'd spied his phone. He'd been sure he'd searched there— more than once—the afternoon before. Edward had checked the barely charged device. He'd found no messages.

At the same time in Philadelphia, Bella had entered the Courtyard Hotel. In Dallas, during the long and excruciating hours when each vivid recollection of the night's events had formed a new crack in her broken heart, two thoughts had penetrated Bella's pain and bewilderment. The first had been that she wasn't ready to answer questions, and the second, that she couldn't bear to be in the only possible sanctuary she could have sought to escape her parents', especially Renee's, questions about her early return. The thought of entering the tree house— _their_ place—had been intolerable, and so, she'd called the first hotel that had caught her eye when searching online, and booked a room.

Bella had dropped her bag onto the floor and the room key on the bedside table before she'd sat, listlessly, on the bed. She'd wished, then, that she'd developed a taste for alcohol because she'd been desperate to blot out her memories—good and bad—because each recollection of how loved Edward had made her feel and how much she'd loved him in return only deepened her despair. Bella had clutched her knees to her chest. 'Gutted,' she'd thought, 'I feel gutted.' She'd cried and cried, and then, unable to shed another tear, she'd risen and stood in the shower until the water ran cold. She'd ordered food—as a distraction rather than to assuage any feelings of hunger. She'd picked at a salad, drank several cups of tea, and then, after swallowing two Tylenol, had finally surrendered to fatigue and fallen into a restless sleep.

Bella had woken to the buzz of her cell phone. She'd turned over and picked it up. The time had read three forty-eight, and she'd known who the caller was. She didn't answer. The phone stopped and, a minute later, buzzed again. The ache in Bella's chest, which had reignited the moment consciousness had returned, multiplied a thousandfold, but a new emotion had filtered in. Anger—Bella's anger had spiked and then simmered. 'How dare he?' she'd fumed. 'How _dare_ he pretend nothing happened!'

Her phone rang repeatedly. Bella had ignored it, but for some reason, unfathomable even to her, she hadn't turned it off. Months later, she'd conceded, if only to herself, that she'd been holding onto the only thing that had, then, still linked her to Edward.

In Austin, Edward had grown increasingly agitated at his inability to contact Bella. He'd sent a quick text on the drive to the radio station, apologizing for not calling the day before. He'd explained the misplaced phone and promised to call after his interview. He had, but Bella hadn't answered. He'd left a message and called again at the usual time, before their sound check. He'd been puzzled because, despite his and Bella's conflicting schedules, they'd always made themselves available at that time. Edward waited a while before trying again. He'd called at regular intervals, but Bella hadn't answered, and Edward had grown more and more agitated because she'd never before left a message unanswered for so long. Even if she'd been in class, she'd at least text back saying she'd contact him later.

"What's eating you?" James had asked about Edward's sour mood after their sound check when they'd returned to the bus. Soon, as had become habitual, they'd separate to prepare for that night's concert. For Edward, that had meant retiring to his bunk to FaceTime with Bella, or, if she was busy, listen to music, play his guitar, or take a nap.

"I feel like shit!" he'd answered James' question irritably. Not wanting to mention his frustration at his inability to contact Bella, he'd blamed his mood on the headache he'd still been nursing.

"How d'ya get so shitfaced that John had to carry your ass to bed?" Liam had laughed.

"Fucked if I know," Edward had answered. "When did you guys leave the dressing room anyway?"

"Don't you remember?" Alec asked.

"Would I ask if I did?" Edward had felt his temper fray again. He'd made an effort to calm down. "I don't remember much after the fans came in," he'd admitted.

"We left about an hour after. I went back to the bus, but James and Alec went to a club with some girls. They returned just before our bus left," Liam had said.

"Yeah; we asked you, but you were talking to Vic and that girl… what's her name?" Alec had looked at James. "You know, the one you wanted to screw?"

"Maggie or some shit like that," James had said. "Yeah, she was hot, but the girl I left with was hotter. Besides, she was all over Masen's dick. Did you get some of that?" he'd asked Edward with a lascivious grin.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Edward snapped.

"That groupie, Maggie; did you fuck her?" James persisted.

"Of course, I fucking didn't!" Edward answered through gritted teeth.

"Hey, just asking..." James laughed, but his response had been cut off when Edward had dug into his pocket to retrieve his vibrating phone. Without checking, he'd held it to his ear and walked toward his bunk.

"Bella!" he'd exclaimed hopefully.

"Masen?" His caller had answered, and Edward's shoulders had slumped at the sound of Eva's voice.

"Eva, what's up?" he'd answered, and she'd then informed him of an invitation to perform live on Britain's most popular celebrity talk show.

"When?" Edward asked.

"Taping's on Thursday night, so you guys have to fly to LA early tomorrow morning —unless you have your passports with you?"

"Fuck!" Edward muttered, and Eva laughed.

"Relax. I may have organized your passports, but I didn't expect any of you to carry them with you. I've booked you and the guys on a flight to LA tomorrow morning at eight. With the time difference, you can be at the office at around ten to get briefed and collect your tickets and itinerary. You'll have enough time to make a quick visit home before you leave for London on a three-thirty flight. You'll arrive at ten, local time, on Thursday morning."

"Why the rush? Couldn't we do this next week?"

"Sorry, it's short notice, I know. But we've been talking to the producers for ages. We didn't think we'd pull this off for months, but the artist they booked for this week had some emergency and couldn't make their slot. Many would jump at the opportunity, and I didn't want to pass it up, Masen. They want you because you're hot right now, and they'll remember if we cooperate. It's good for us too. Your appearance will boost record sales and possibly keep the album in the charts longer. Besides, Graham's a lot of fun. All his guests have said so," Eva had added for good measure.

"What's wrong?" she'd asked when hearing Edward's frustrated groan.

"I promised Bella I'd go home from here."

"You _have_ to do this Masen, not just because of contractual agreements but because it's good for your career. And it's only two days; you could be in Philadelphia by Friday night or Saturday morning. I'm sure Bella will understand."

"I know, Eva. I appreciate your efforts, and, yes, Bella will understand, but still, I don't like disappointing her." Edward hadn't voiced his regret at having to delay seeing Bella or of letting her down. "Do the others know yet?" he'd asked instead.

"No," Eva had replied, "I wanted to tell you first. Could you let the guys know? I'll text all of you with tomorrow's details. Just make sure you all make the flight."

"Sure. "I'll talk to them, and we'll see you in the office tomorrow."

Edward had phoned Bella immediately after his conversation with Eva, but had, again, failed to reach her. He'd tried the Swan home, but there, too, the telephone had gone unanswered. Finally, he'd sent Bella a text before he'd returned to the lounge area. _Baby, I've been trying to reach you all day. Please call before I go onstage—nine-thirty your time. I need to speak to you urgently,_ he'd written.

By the time he'd shared the news about London with Eclipse, Bella still hadn't called. Edward, remembering his own mishap with his phone the day before, had tried to curb his growing frustration. 'She probably forgot to charge her phone,' he'd convinced himself.

Liam, Alec, and James, especially, had been thrilled. "Fuckin' awesome!" he'd practically yelled when Edward had first shared the news. Out of the four musicians, James had also appeared the least affected by the negative aspects of touring. For him, because of his and Edward's onstage interaction, the live performances had meant he could share the spotlight. He'd acknowledged, if somewhat churlishly, that Masen was the star, the one the women desired most, but, in his view, he ran a close second. James' ambition had been to become a star in his own right. 'One day,' he'd promised himself, 'it will be my name on CD's, my name they'll be shouting at concerts. _I'_ ll be photographed and give interviews'.

"How come Victoria didn't say anything before?" Alec had asked about their trip.

"She probably didn't know. Promotions are Eva's area, not Vic's," Edward had answered and, only then noticing her absence, asked. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Left for Nashville. Checking out a new artist," James had said and immediately returned the conversation to London. James, Liam, and Alec's unbridled enthusiasm had sparked Edward's because he'd agreed with Eva and the guys about their appearance on the show being a fantastic opportunity. "Plus it's the home of the Beatles, Cream, _The Stones_ , " Liam had enthused. By the time they'd gone onstage for the final concert of their tour, Edward, although still worried about not having discussed the matter with Bella, had been equally excited about the trip.

Later that night, after several lengthy encores, Edward and Eclipse left the stage to the thunderous applause and foot stomping of their fans. The mood in their dressing room had been exuberant. They'd whooped and high-fived one another. "The place rocked," Liam had exclaimed as he'd dropped his drumsticks onto a nearby table, and James, not to be outdone, had yelled, "Fuckin' awesome show! I'm ready to celebrate; bring in the girls," as he'd opened a bottle of bourbon and poured each of them a generous amount.

Edward had had just enough time to check his phone before the room had filled with fans demanding his attention. Bella hadn't called. He'd considered phoning her, but, realizing the time, nearly one a.m. in Philadelphia, he'd resisted the urge. 'Early tomorrow,' he'd decided.

After he'd mingled, signed autographs, and avoided the now familiar sexual invitations, subtle and overt, Edward had joined the end of tour crew party. He'd stayed until the early hours of the morning, hours after James, Liam, and Alec had left with a group of female fans. Then, feeling assured that enough time had passed for James and perhaps the others to get their fucking done, he'd returned to their bus, tanked but not falling-down drunk.

He'd woken the next morning at five-thirty to the sound of his phone alarm. He'd found Liam at the table, drinking coffee. Edward had poured himself a cup. "Donuts in the box," Liam pointed. "John left them," he'd explained when seeing Edward's raised brow.

"He's up already?" he'd asked.

"The entire crew is. Eager to get home, I suppose," Liam had said, and Edward nodded, remembering John telling him about the plans to return the crew and buses to their home bases.

"What about James and Alec? We need to leave in an hour or so to make our flight."

"Alec's in the shower, and James should make his appearance soon. I woke to the sounds of him getting a blow job," Liam laughed.

Edward had grimaced, thankful that he'd consumed enough alcohol the night before that he'd been spared that experience. He'd finished his second donut and then, refilling his cup, left the bus with his phone. He'd stood to the side, watching various crew members bustling around as he'd punched in Bella's number. That time, when hearing her voice saying, _"Sorry, can't answer right now. Leave a message, and I'll call as soon as I can_ ," his frustration had boiled over.

"Bella, where the fuck are you? I've left _dozens_ of messages. Call me, please; it's urgent!" he'd snapped and stood for a moment, breathing hard before he'd emptied his coffee onto the ground, tossed the paper cup into a nearby trashcan, and stomped back to the bus. The door had opened before he'd laid a hand on it. Two females had emerged looking the worse for wear. James stood in the doorway wearing only jeans, still half undone, and made one of his typically lewd comments as he'd farewelled the women. He'd smirked when seeing Edward, and the women, their eyes had widened before they'd both, smiled seductively and, in unison, tittered, "Hi, Masen." Edward had barely glanced at them as he'd waited for them to pass and then, glaring at James, he'd strode off toward his bunk.

Minutes later, standing in the cramped shower, he'd regretted his outburst, especially swearing at Bella. Edward uses 'fuck' liberally when expressing himself. Bella teased him about it often. "You know, for someone so articulate, you seem to have difficulty finding other adjectives," she'd said, or some variation of those words, more times than Edward could remember. One particular incident, when they'd been lying on the daybed in the tree house, had come to mind.

"Well, few words have the ability express so many emotions," he'd said when she'd reminded him of his penchant for the expletive. "Anger, impatience, contempt, fear—" he'd listed slowly and then, covering her naked body with his, he'd pinched her nipple. Smiling at her instant response, he'd planted, hot, wet kisses along her neck and jaw before, in a long, drawn out breath, he'd whispered in her ear, " _Lust_." Later, Bella had admitted that, despite her abhorrence for swearing, she liked hearing Edward say fuck. "Do you like me doing it to you?" he'd asked, a smile in his voice. "Yes," she'd answered breathily.

Edward cursed when speaking to Bella but he'd never, until then, sworn at her. He'd phoned immediately after leaving the shower, and, yet again, he'd been forced to leave a message. "I'm sorry, Baby," he'd apologized, "but I'm worried that I haven't heard from you. Also, Bella, there's something important I need to tell you."

At that time, in Philadelphia after another mostly sleepless night, Bella had stood in the shower and contemplated what she should tell her parents later that day. 'And Erin,' she'd thought because her friend would expect a full account of Edward's reaction to her surprise visit. Bella's heart bled, and her throat tightened as her mind, again, tortured her with replays of Dallas. 'Stop; stop,' she'd whispered as she'd willed the hurt away by summoning her anger. And so, two hours later, with Edward en route to Los Angeles, Bella had checked out of her hotel and returned home.

There, she'd found a note from Renee, taped to her bedroom door; _Sweetheart, I hope Edward enjoyed his surprise! Dad had to go to New York, and, seeing that you're in Texas and will be coming back with Edward, I joined him. We'll be home on Sunday. Love, Mom_. Bella had been grateful for the reprieve even though she'd decided not to disclose the truth about her trip. She'd wanted, desperately, to avoid the inevitable post mortem on her relationship with Edward, her father's anger, her mother's sympathy and well-meaning advice; and the pity, which, most assuredly, would accompany them.

Bella spent hours aimlessly wandering around the house, thinking, thinking, struggling to understand how and why Edward would betray her— _them_. By late afternoon, she'd finally succumbed and listened to his messages. Hearing his words hadn't helped her state of mind or lessened her heartbreak. In fact, Bella had felt even more confused, and if possible, she'd hurt more deeply. 'How can he act like nothing happened? Has he done this before in LA? Is _that_ why it's so easy for him to pretend now?' she'd wondered. With each message, those thoughts had embedded themselves more firmly in Bella's mind, and, by the time she'd listened to Edward's aggravation at her lack of contact, she'd been fuming. The next message, his apology, meant nothing. Then, when listening to him explain his London detour and Saturday afternoon arrival in Philadelphia, she'd thought, 'Just another chance to mess around.' Deep in her consciousness, the part that had registered Edward's distress, had tried reasoning with her, but Bella's anger, the only thing standing between her and total devastation, had resisted.

Edward's London appearance had, as Eva had predicted, proven beneficial for his records' sales and standing in the charts. The producers, delighted with viewers' responses had expressed a desire to have him back. Edward had also enjoyed his experience. The host had been exceedingly laid back and entertaining, and Edward had met and instantly liked a fellow guest, an actor he greatly admired. After the show, the star had invited Edward to join him at a London club. He'd accepted, and the invitation had been extended to James, Liam, and Alec, who'd also eagerly agreed.

After landing in London, after several futile attempts to reach Bella, Edward had resolved to stop calling. He'd also tried in LA, and when she hadn't answered, he'd called her parents' home. He'd left messages asking, practically begging, her to call him. And, then, at the airport, when he still hadn't heard from Bella, he'd left a message explaining his London trip. Edward couldn't explain why, instead of telling her he'd be back on Friday afternoon, he'd said he'd see her on Saturday. 'I love you, Baby. Can't wait to see you,' he'd ended. In London, with still no word, Edward had accepted that Bella couldn't possibly have left her phone uncharged for that long. He'd been worried, but annoyance at her lack of response had resurfaced. Having decided to simply arrive on her doorstep, he'd been determined to enjoy his time in London.

That night, for Edward, who had, over the past months, been the focus of media and public attention wherever he'd gone, being eclipsed by a more famous celebrity had been a respite. Patrons at the club, females especially, had noticed Edward. He'd always attracted attention, particularly from women. Their interest in him, however, had exploded since the release of Beautiful Home, and, for Edward, it had felt unrelenting and, at times, oppressive. At that club, in the presence of the actor, Edward had, for the first time since his success, taken a back seat. He'd chatted easily with members of the star's entourage. Even the women, though interested in him and his career, hadn't seemed as desperate as the Masen groupies, or 'gropies' as Edward had mentally referred to them. The actor's sister, Zoe, whose boyfriend was also a musician, and Edward got along especially well. They'd sat, slightly apart from the wider group, engrossed in conversation about the differences between his music and Edward's. They'd talked about their partners and promised that, one day, the four of them would get together.

On Thursday night of that week, Bella, not yet ready to face her friend, had texted Erin. _Exhausted. Need another day to recover. I'll see you on Monday_ , she'd written.

 _Exhausted? I bet you just can't get enough of that gorgeous man meat. I want **all** the deets!_ Erin had cheekily messaged back. Bella's heart had twisted in her chest as the unwelcome vision of that woman's head in Edward's lap had returned. Still undecided about how much she should tell Erin, she'd been thankful for the extra time to decide. She'd spent another day listlessly whiling away time. She'd tried, not very successfully, to concentrate on her course work, but in the end, she'd abandoned the effort and returned to her bed, hoping for the oblivion of sleep.

On Friday morning, when seeing her reflection in the mirror, she'd decided that she needed to pull herself together. 'Enough!' she'd rebuked herself. 'You can't let Mom and Dad see you like this.' So, Bella had showered, washed and blow-dried her hair, and, for the first time since returning home, had changed out of her sweats.

She'd tidied her room, and then, late that afternoon, forced down a sandwich. She'd cleaned up the kitchen, and, armed with a second large mug of tea and determined not to jeopardize her studies any further, she'd settled on the sofa with her laptop to read the notes from her missed classes that Erin had forwarded. A short while later, the doorbell had chimed. Bella, wondering who could have passed the security gate, had risen slowly, mug still in hand, and made her way to the front door. There, she'd checked the intercom screen. The breath had left her body in a strangled whimper when seeing Edward's anxious face. She'd dropped the mug.

Outside, on the doorstep, Edward, hearing the clatter of porcelain hitting marble, had called out worriedly, "Bella? Renee?"

'No, no!' Bella's mind screamed. 'I'm not ready!' She'd sunk onto the floor, clutching her chest as she'd struggled against the onslaught of pain and the sense of betrayal. "Bella!" Edward had practically yelled, his voice tight, a mixture of concern and exasperation.

Bella, hearing only frustration, breathed slow and deep. Anger, blessed anger she'd later called it, rose slowly and gave her the strength to stand. She'd straightened her shoulders, and, ignoring the splattered mess in her mother's pristine entrance, had stepped forward and opened the door. Her breath had left her again, though, not as dramatically that time. Her body wanted—no, demanded—that she go to him, fall into his arms, but her brain fuelled by outrage, forced her to stay.

Edward, too, had stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as he'd looked at Bella. He'd moved, finally, and embraced her. He'd tried to kiss her, but Bella had turned her head. Frowning, he'd leaned back. "What's wrong? Are you all right?" he'd asked.

"You'd better come in," Bella had answered emotionlessly and, turning, had to led the way.

Stepping inside, Edward surveyed the broken mug and spilled liquid. "Should we clean that up?"

"Leave it," she'd said, and then, in the living room, had faced him. Edward dropped his bag and tried, again, to embrace Bella. She'd stood immobile.

"What's going on?" he'd demanded, more forcefully this time.

Bella had breathed deeply, tried to steady her voice, and answered as coolly as she could. "I don't know. Why don't _you_ tell _me_?"

Edward's temper had threatened, but, seeing Bella's pain, he'd calmed himself. "Baby, please; I don't know what's wrong, but, clearly, something is. Talk to me," he'd implored.

Bella's stance softened at his words, the love in his voice, his eyes, but then, the sight of him in that dressing room assailed her memory. "What happened, Edward?" she asked.

"Bella, I _had_ to go to London; I explained that. "Can we sit?" he'd countered, reaching for her hands. She'd avoided him and sat in a nearby armchair. Edward huffed, and moved to the sofa across from her. He'd sat, head bowed as he'd fought for patience. He'd dragged both hands through his hair before he'd looked up at Bella. "I have obligations I can't avoid. I wouldn't have gone otherwise," he explained.

"I don't care about London," Bella had answered, her voice rising agitatedly. "I'm talking about Dallas!"

"Dallas?"

"Dallas. Why did you do it?"

"Do _what_? Perform?"

"The woman. Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Bella had demanded, hating that her voice broke.

"What fucking woman? Find out what? Bella, I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" That time, Edward vented his frustration.

"I _saw_ you," Bella said, unable to stop the sob that followed. "I saw you," she repeated, her face crumpling. Edward had rushed to her side, but Bella had shoved him away. He'd sat back on his haunches, shocked by the force of her action. "I wanted to surprise you… wanted to get there before your show ended, but I didn't. I saw you in that dressing room with that woman…she…you…" Tears ran, unstopped, down her cheeks.

"Wha…what woman? There was no woman—"Edward had protested, and then stopped. "Bella, I don't understand. You were in Dallas?"

"Yes."

"At the theatre where we played?"

"I already said that!"

"But why didn't you tell me? Talk to me?"

"Edward, I sent you a text; two, in fact, saying I was coming, and when I arrived I found you with a woman's head in your crotch! Did you really think I should have stopped to _talk_ to you?"

"Bella, I didn't get any message, and there was no fucking woman. I would never do that to you—you must know that!"

"I used to believe it, but I was wrong. Wrong and _stupid_! I don't want to discuss this anymore, Edward. I know what I saw! Do you know how I felt seeing that… seeing _you_ like that? You broke my heart, and now, you can't even be honest…" Bella sobbed, and Edward reached for her again. She pulled away.

"Bella… Baby, I _swear_ —" he'd said, but Bella cut him off.

"Tell me what you did that night," she'd challenged.

"We played, left the stage, and went to the dressing room where we met with fans and signed autographs like always. I had a beer… maybe more… I don't know. I don't remember—" he'd admitted.

"You don't remember how much you drank?" Bella asked.

"Yeah…" Edward had muttered, frowning as he'd recalled his inability to remember everything about the night. "I…I don't remember much," he'd confessed, shamefaced. "I got drunk, really drunk, although I can't remember drinking that much. I felt like shit when I woke up, and, honestly, I can't remember a lot about that night. But, Bella, I know there wasn't a woman; there couldn't have been. I wouldn't _ever_ do that to you!"

"Edward, you just admitted that you were really drunk and that you can't remember. How can you be so sure about that?"

"Bella, I swear…"

"No, Edward. Swearing's not good enough. I saw you, and you want me to believe I imagined everything. Tell me, honestly, how do you explain what I saw?"

"Bella, I don't know..."

"Well, _I_ do, and I can't—no, I _won't_ open myself to that kind of heartbreak again. You should go!" she'd said, her voice breaking when she'd wanted desperately to sound strong.

"Bella, no! For fuck sake; I'm telling you I wouldn't ever cheat on you."

"Edward, even if, by some miracle, my eyes deceived me, the fact is, you _did_ cheat on me. By drinking so much that you can't even remember what happened, by placing yourself in that position, you cheated on me—on us. Go. There's nothing more to say."

"There's plenty to say, and I'm not giving up on us, even if you already have. Doesn't what we had…what we _still_ have mean anything?" he'd challenged.

"Well, right back at you, _Masen_!" she'd retaliated. Edward had flinched at the contempt in her voice.

"I'll leave because you're upset, and you've asked me to; but Bella, I'm begging you not to give up on us. _Please_. I'll call you," Edward had said. He'd leaned forward, and, ignoring Bella's restraining hand, kissed her mouth tenderly. "I love you—always," he'd whispered and left.

Bella had listened to the front door shut softly and then fell apart. She'd wanted to believe Edward, but had wondered how she'd ever be able to truly believe or trust him again. She'd abandoned her studies and, instead, retreated to her bed. There, she'd cried, promising herself that, in the morning, she'd be strong again. 'If only I hadn't seen him. If only I could get rid of those images in my head.' Those had been the last coherent thoughts that had drifted through Bella's mind before, late that night, her mind and body had succumbed to exhaustion, and she'd fallen asleep.

Edward had left the Swan residence, devastated and confused. Instead of going to Jake's as he'd arranged, he'd checked into a city hotel. There, he'd lain on the bed, unable to sleep and tortured his mind with trying to remember the night in Dallas. 'Night,' he'd scoffed as he'd recalled the hours leading up to that night and remembered his missing phone. 'If I hadn't lost the fucking thing, I would have known then that she was coming,' he'd thought. Still, that hadn't explained why, when he had found it there'd been no messages. Still, their absence didn't explain what Bella claimed she'd witnessed. Edward had wracked his brain until his head ached. His efforts had been useless. He couldn't remember anything that had happened after he'd signed autographs, and then, when he'd recalled James and Alec mentioning the girl, Maggie, his blood had run cold.

James' words, "She was all over Masen's dick," reverberated in his head, and he'd rushed to the bathroom and dry retched. 'Did I?' he'd asked himself. 'Maybe I did,' he'd thought. Edward clung to the small voice; the one buried deep in his brain that said, 'No. You wouldn't, _couldn't_ ever, do that to Bella.'

He'd resolved to tell her, as soon as he could, what he had remembered. He'd hoped that, deep down, like him, she'd believe in their love and give him a chance to prove that whatever she'd seen had been a mistake.

The next morning, Sunday, Edward had called Bella. He'd received no answer. He called her home; still, no one had answered. He'd called every hour, on the hour, until, eventually, she'd sent him a text. _Please stop calling, and don't call the home phone. I don't want to involve my parents_.

 _I'll respect your wishes—for now. I'll give you time, Bella, but I'm not giving up on us. I love you_ , Edward had replied. He'd hoped for a response, but none had arrived.

On Monday, Bella told Erin that she and Edward had decided to end their relationship. "I can't talk about it right now," she'd said, and Erin, seeing her friend's heartbreak, had nodded. "Whenever you're ready," she'd answered, squeezing Bella's hand.

Later that day, a fellow student who'd delighted in taunting Bella about her relationship with Edward, had dropped a magazine onto the table in the coffee shop that she and Erin regularly frequented. "Told you so," the female had snidely commented before sashaying off. Bella's face had turned bone-white when confronted by the photo of Edward and an attractive woman, their heads bent close, seemingly enraptured with each other. _Masen, the newest music sensation to hit the airwaves, spotted on a night out at The Cuckoo Club in London_ , the caption had read.

That, for Bella, had been the final straw. Any hope, any thought she'd had of believing in Edward, of moving past the Dallas incident, had been killed by that article.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Well, the last chapter certainly generated a lot of comments. We've just started the bumpy part of the journey. I hope you stick with me for the rest of the ride. I promise the road will smooth out, eventually ;)**

 **I think, well, I hope, I've responded to all answerable reviews. If I haven't, forgive me and please accept my heartfelt thanks now. I didn't mean to slight you; I must, just, have overlooked your comment.**

 **Thank you also to my friends at Cheatward's Spot for your interest in Unplugged, for your kind remarks, and for raising awareness for the story.**

 **Take care, everyone. Until next time.**

 **Shenda x**


	14. Chapter 14

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to Shenda Paul, aka FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Twelve**

Edward had spent weeks trying to convince Bella to speak to him. In the first week, he'd texted daily, sometimes several times a day. His first words, written only hours after he'd left her home, had been, _Bella, I don't understand what's going on, but I do know you're hurt and upset by what you believe happened. Staying away is the hardest thing, but I'm going to give you space and hope that, soon, you'll remember that I love you and that I'd never intentionally hurt you. I do love you, Baby—always._ And in another message, his last that week, he'd said, _I don't care if you think I'm a pain in the ass. I love you, and I'm not giving up on us._

At times, instead of texting, he'd phoned. He'd known, by then, that Bella wouldn't respond, but he'd persevered. For Edward, each unanswered message had felt like a blow to his chest. He'd wondered if forcing the issue and making Bella talk to him would improve their situation. He'd wanted, desperately, to convince her that she'd been mistaken, but he couldn't—not when his memory continued to fail him. So, he'd sought answers from others.

First, Edward called John. "What happened in Dallas?" he'd asked his tour manager.

"What do you mean, what happened? I told you I carried your drunk ass onto the bus," John joked.

"I fucking know that!" Edward snarled. "How did you find me…was I alone?"

"What do you mean alone?"

"What do you think it means—was there anyone there; a woman?"

Edward had tried to curb his irritation, but when John had answered, "What woman?" his temper had flared.

"I don't fucking know what woman— _any_ woman. It's not a hard question, John. I can't remember what happened, and I need to," he'd retaliated, and John, sensing the desperation behind Edward's anger, had stopped his levity.

"You were passed out on the dressing room sofa; alone."

"Did you see a woman or anyone outside?" Edward had then asked.

"No. Why do you keep asking about a woman?"

Edward had ignored John's question. "What about the crew?" he'd demanded instead. "Did any of them see me in the dressing room? Did they see me with a woman?"

"No one said anything," John admitted.

"Could you ask around?"

"Masen, what's going on?" John had asked, and so Edward had reluctantly explained.

"Fuck!" John had exclaimed.

"Exactly," Edward had agreed.

"I'll call some of the crew, but Masen, they've probably moved on to other tours."

"Could you try?"

"Sure," John had promised.

Edward had contacted Liam next, but he hadn't added anything more than he'd already revealed. "What about Alec and James?" Edward had then asked. "Did they say anything?"

"No, and you know if James had anything on you, you'd know by now," Liam had said, and Edward had agreed.

"If you're that worried about this Maggie, why don't you ask Vic? " Liam suggested.

"Thanks; I will," Edward had said, and, so, he'd called Victoria and questioned her about that night.

"Why?" she'd asked in return.

"I don't remember how I got so drunk," he'd confessed.

"Well, you guys _were_ drinking a lot," she'd responded.

"I don't think so; at least, I don't think I did. I only remember having a beer, maybe two—" Edward disagreed.

"Really? I could've sworn you were all swigging bourbon from the bottle."

"That's normally James' thing, not ours."

"Well, maybe I saw James and assumed," she'd retracted.

"Maybe," Edward had conceded, but he hadn't sounded confident.

"What do you remember?" Victoria had asked.

"Leaving the stage, having a beer, and then signing autographs. Things are vague after that," he'd answered. "Alec said you and that girl you had in the dressing room were talking to me."

"Maggie? Yes, we did for a bit, and then she gave me a lift to my hotel," Victoria had said.

"Was anyone around when you left?"

"Just the guys," she'd said, and Edward, recalling Alec's comment about leaving him in the dressing room with Victoria and the girl, had frowned.

"I thought they left before you?"

"No; we left first," Victoria had insisted, and when Edward mentioned Alec's recollection, she'd answered. "Masen, the guys were drinking pretty hard, and you know…occupied with women. They weren't thinking straight." Frustrated though he'd been, Edward hadn't been able to argue—not when _his_ memory had been so sorely lacking.

By the Saturday, his second in Philadelphia, he'd phoned and invited Esme and Alice to lunch. "Alice is at a weekend sleepover. Can you and Bella cope with just little old me?" she'd joked. "Of course," Edward had answered," but it'll just be the two of us. I'll explain later," he'd added before she could ask the inevitable question.

Edward had greeted Esme warmly, but still, she'd sensed something amiss. "What's wrong?" she'd asked. "Just tired," he'd explained.

"Where's Bella?" Esme had asked then and, again, Edward had lied.

"She had plans before she knew I'd be back," he'd said, hoping his stepmother wouldn't press. He'd distracted Esme by asking about her practice and then Alice, and when she'd questioned him about the tour and London, he'd kept her entertained.

Later, much later, when Esme, having learned the truth, had asked why he hadn't confided in her, Edward had confessed that he hadn't wanted to see the same mistrust and disappointment in her eyes as he'd witnessed in Bella's when admitting his lack of memory of the events in Dallas.

He'd spent the rest of the weekend with Jake, and when his friend had asked about Bella's absence, Edward had confided in him. "What if someone spiked your drink?" Jake had asked, and Edward had stopped, staggered by the suggestion.

"Who?" he'd demanded.

"One of your fans; the girl, Maggie," Jake answered and, after a pause, said, "Victoria?"

Edward had been even more astonished at the last name. "If either Maggie or Vic did it; why'd they leave?" he answered, and then, after a moment's consideration, continued. "Anyway, I don't think Victoria would; it doesn't make sense. All she thinks about is what's good for her career. Drugging me doesn't help her get ahead."

Jake nodded. "Okay; what about your groupies?" he'd persisted.

"One of them could have, I guess, but I'm sure I was holding my beer while signing autographs. Not likely."

"Still possible," Jake had said, and although Edward had nodded in acknowledgment, he hadn't been convinced.

"What are you going to do about Bella?" Jake had then asked.

"I don't know. Give her time to cool down, I suppose," Edward, his frustration evident, had answered. He'd stated into space, and, a moment later, he'd continued. "And hope that when she does, she'll listen to me even if it's not what she wants to hear."

Jake had nodded sagely and changed the subject. Edward had been grateful for his friend's understanding and support.

By the Monday, with still no word from Bella, Edward's patience had run out. He decided to confront her. Bella, accompanied by Erin and two other friends had approached their favorite coffee shop. Despite the dark beanie and sunglasses, Bella had instantly recognized the figure at a corner table. The blood had drained from her face, and her body had turned to stone, yet her heart, fractured as it had still been, had nearly hammered its way out of her chest.

"Bella?" Erin had turned to her friend in concern. "What's wrong?" she'd asked, and had then followed Bella's gaze. She'd stiffened as she, too, had recognized Edward, and taking Bella's arm, had steered her away. Edward had instantly stood; his long legs quickly closed the distance between them.

"Bella," he'd implored as he'd grasped her elbow. "Talk to me," he'd said, but Bella had remained silent. Erin answered instead.

"Leave her alone; haven't you done enough?" she'd accused Edward.

"Stay out of this, Erin. You don't know what you're talking about!" he'd answered, his eyes and voice glacial. He'd turned to Bella then. "Please?" he'd pleaded again.

"Edward…" she'd responded, torn, but the girl who had, only a week before, accosted her approached and, seeing Edward, brushed past Bella. "He's slumming it with _you_ again?" she'd sneered.

Bella had straightened up and, determined, had answered Edward. "There's nothing to talk about. Please go, you're embarrassing me," she'd said, looking around pointedly at the many interested onlookers.

Edward, seeing the gathering crowd, had grimaced. "Sorry," he'd apologized, knowing how much Bella hated being the center of attention, "but you left me no option. We need to talk, Bella."

"Can you explain what I saw?" she'd asked.

"No, but—"

"Then there's no point talking," Bella had cut Edward off. She'd willed herself to ignore his hurt expression and instead, mentally replayed the Dallas scene and the nightclub photograph.

"Can we meet at our place later?" he'd asked.

" _Our_ place no longer exists, and don't bother going to my home. I won't be there," Bella had said, cringing at how easily the lie had left her mouth. She'd comforted herself with the thought that she was protecting herself. She hadn't trusted herself to remain strong when alone with Edward.

"Where…" he'd demanded but again, he'd been interrupted, by Erin this time.

"Come," she'd urged Bella and, linking their arms, had led her away. Edward contemplated following but, seeing the unbridled curiosity and the phones held aloft in the crowd, no doubt recording the incident, had turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

With Jake's speculations in mind and desperate for information that he'd hoped would appease Bella, he'd called John. "Anything?" he'd asked.

"No. Like I said; most have moved on, and the few people I spoke to didn't see anything," John answered, and Edward had felt more depressed and hopeless than ever.

For two more weeks, he'd reached out to Bella. He texted, left messages, and each day, he visited campus, all the spots he knew she frequented. Edward hadn't approached her again, but he'd made sure that she'd see him. He'd hoped that Bella would acknowledge his sincerity, his desperation and change her mind, talk to him. Edward had been convinced that if he and Bella could just open up to each other the way they used to, that they'd work things out.

Sadly, Edward's attempts had failed. As word about his daily campus visits had spread, the more fans had accosted him. He'd signed autographs and then asked for privacy, but the gatherings of mostly women had increased. His presence, instead of softening Bella's stance, as he'd hoped, seeing him surrounded by women had only convinced Bella that _her_ Edward had disappeared, replaced by Masen, rock star. So, she'd ignored every cell in her body that clamored for contact with him. Each time she spotted Edward, she'd walk away, and, on each occasion, both her and Edward's despair increased and the distance between them became more and more insurmountable.

By the Saturday of the third week, when Eva called requesting his return to LA for another round of promotional appearances, he'd texted Bella. _I'm needed back in LA. I hope that when I return you'll agree to talk. I love you, Bella, and I miss you more than I can describe._ He hadn't expected a reply but, still, he'd been saddened when she hadn't answered.

And Bella, despite her determination not to get back with Edward, had felt her heart sink when reading his message. 'It's for the best,' she'd told herself and with Erin and Hayley's encouraging words ringing in her ears, she'd strengthened her resolve. Hayley, especially, had been vocal in her condemnation of Edward. Whenever she'd sensed Bella softening, she'd reminded her of the celebrities who'd cheated on their partners. "It's how that business works," she'd said, and Bella, vulnerable as she'd then been, had accepted her friends' advice.

True to his word, a month later, Edward had returned to Philadelphia. Again, he'd visited Penn campus, and, after wandering around for nearly an hour, he'd finally found Bella. He'd been thrilled to see her alone and hoped that without Erin's influence, he and Bella could finally have a meaningful conversation. He'd moved toward her but stopped when a tall, blond man had walked up behind her and familiarly draped an arm around her neck. Anger, betrayal, and then hurt had assaulted him. 'Fucker!' Edward had thought as he'd fought the urge to rip the smiling asshole's arm from its socket. He'd left without a backward glance.

Had Edward waited a few moments longer, he would have seen Bella shrug the man off. Daniel Hill, a fellow pre-law student, had a reputation for being a womanizer, and over the past weeks, he'd targeted Bella as his latest conquest. She, however, had treated his advances as a bit of a joke. She had, in fact, decided that, despite his notoriety, he was rather entertaining and a pleasant diversion from wondering what Edward was doing in LA.

"Still not interested in a date?" Dan had challenged Bella as she'd stepped away from him. "I'll never date you, but I'm happy to be friends," she'd retorted. "Okay… friends, then," he'd laughed. "Can a _friend_ join you for lunch?" "Yes; but only if you behave," she'd answered. "Scout's honor," he'd sworn good-naturedly.

. . . . .

In the three months that passed since that day on Penn campus, Edward had made promotional appearances in Los Angeles, London, and Germany. Still determined to reconcile with Bella and, remembering the aftermath of Dallas, he'd been circumspect, making sure not to drink too much and to keep his wits about him. He'd been wary of the attentions of female fans, and he hadn't, once, succumbed to the many sexual invitations he'd received. Still, photographs of him had appeared in the tabloid press; always in a group, and mostly with members of Eclipse, but, inevitably, his name had been linked with one female or another who'd been present. Edward, for the most part, remained unaware of the gossip surrounding him. Consequently, he'd had no idea of the harm those photographs had done in cementing Bella's resolve and determining her course of action.

Toward the end of that period, Edward had, again, visited Philadelphia. He'd intended to contact Bella, but those plans had been thwarted when Jake had mentioned seeing Bella on a date. "Are you sure it was a _date_?" he'd asked.

"Well, the guy kissed her, and she kissed him back," his friend had replied. "I'm sorry, man. I wasn't going to tell you, but I couldn't let you call her without knowing," he'd added.

"Was he tall and blond?" Edward, thinking of the guy on campus, had asked.

"No; he had dark hair," Jake had answered. Edward, upset, had remained silent. That night, for the first time in a long while, Edward got drunk, very drunk. He would probably have done something foolish if Jake hadn't rescued him from the fawning women at the pub they'd visited. "I need to forget her…get laid," Edward had slurred when Jake had suggested they leave.

"I'm sure you do; but not on my watch. Not when you're shitfaced," Jake had said. Then, while two of his other friends had unobtrusively escorted Edward outside, Jake had worked his considerable charm and bribed the women to delete any incriminating photographs they'd taken with a false invitation to a private party with Masen the following week.

The next morning, Edward, fragile and nursing the hangover from hell, had finally given up on Bella. 'Fuck it!' he'd inwardly seethed, 'if she can move on, so can I.' He'd left for LA a day later without contacting Bella. Unable to face Esme and Alice with yet more lies and too hurt to discuss the situation with Bella, he hadn't called them either.

Back in Los Angeles, Edward had, perhaps for the first time, fully embraced the rock star lifestyle. He accepted every invitation to 'party' as James called his carousing. "Not that I'm complaining; I'm glad you've pulled your head out of your ass," he'd remarked on one of their first outings. "But what's changed?"

"I'm single," Edward had answered and hid his pain with another drink. While James had whooped, and Alec had clapped him on the back, Liam had expressed sympathy. Victoria, also present, had remained silent until the others were occupied. "What happened? I thought you and Bella were inseparable," she'd asked.

"I did. She didn't." In his half-drunken state, Edward had sounded bitter. For him, resentment had become preferable to pain, and he'd relied on it more and more to deal with his heartbreak. He'd also found it easier to summon the emotion when drunk.

Victoria leaned forward, all concern. "You know, Masen, people outside the industry don't understand our lifestyle. It's sad that you and Bella broke up, but it's probably for the best," she'd said.

"Perhaps," he'd conceded, his voice lacking conviction.

"Do you still love her?" Victoria had asked.

"I'll always love Bella."

"Sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes it's more important to have someone who understands and accepts the world you live in," Victoria had pronounced.

"Maybe. Now drop the subject; I don't want to discuss Bella with you or anyone else," Edward had responded irritably.

"Just remember; I'm here for you." Victoria had placed a conciliatory hand over Edward's. He'd stared at her for a moment before withdrawing his hand. "You know, if you want to talk or anything," she'd added.

"Thanks," he'd muttered before summoning a waiter to order another drink.

Edward had become a regular on the Hollywood nightclub scene. He'd drank increasingly more, and, suddenly, when accosted by female fans, he'd let them paw at him the way James did. Nearly three weeks after his return from Philadelphia, on a promotional trip with Eclipse to Miami, he'd finally accepted a sexual overture. He'd invited the woman back to his hotel room. The next morning, sickened by the sight of someone other than Bella in his bed, he'd asked her to leave.

Edward hated himself—not only for his actions but also for still thinking of Bella. 'She's probably sleeping with one or both of those fuckers,' he'd tried to convince himself, but, instead of feeling exonerated, he'd felt ill, gutted, at the thought of Bella with another man. Edward's cure for his heartbreak and remorse had been to stay drunk. He went on a bender that lasted weeks until a conversation with Jason had focussed him again. "Are you writing?" he'd asked when, after a meeting with Mitch and Victoria, Edward had visited the recording studio.

"Some, but not really," Edward had informed his friend.

"You're gonna need material for your next album soon."

"Not for eighteen months," Edward had replied.

"Trust me; Aro will want to capitalize on his latest star. He'll be pushing for an earlier release."

"Mitch and Kevin are planning a UK and European tour," Edward told Jason.

"When and for how long?"

"In about a month and four or five weeks, I think."

"Well, promotions beforehand will probably take three months, and then a month for the tour. Add another two or three for album rehearsals and production. You'd better start writing," Jason had joked, but Edward had heeded his words, and he'd began in earnest.

Edward still drank and partied—he'd even indulged in casual sex again, but those activities had been tempered by his concentration on his music. While writing and composing had helped him cope with his despair over losing Bella, those activities had also reopened his wounds. Bella had, again, inspired a number of the songs that had, eventually, been included on his second album. The lyrics for one, which he'd titled, Branded On My Soul, reverberated in Edward's brain so consistently that, to exorcise them, he'd had a tattoo of a Celtic style heart with their barely recognizable initials at its center inked over his left pec. His action, again, hadn't achieved its objective. Instead of being a salve for his wounds, the tattoo became a constant reminder of his loss.

In this time, Victoria, under the guise of friendship, continued her pursuit of Edward. Unlike James, who'd actively encouraged him to drink and 'forget your old girlfriend,' she'd refrained from mentioning Bella. Instead, remembering how much Edward had relied on Bella for feedback on his music, she'd planned, first, to usurp that position and then increase her hold on him. Edward did discuss his music with Victoria, but not in the same way he'd sat for hours and talked to Bella about it. Victoria, despite her best efforts, had failed to replace Bella as Edward's muse and confidante.

She'd recognized the lyrics and melodies that her rival had inspired. It had irked her, but she'd managed, very successfully, to hide her pique from Edward. In his presence, Victoria had acted like the exemplary professional A&R representative and caring friend. She'd even managed to hide her anger and distaste when witnessing or hearing about Edward's sexual exploits. Once, in a meeting to discuss a music award ceremony Eva had raised the subject of a suitable date for Edward. "Do you have anyone in mind?" she'd asked, her face sympathetic when seeing his pained expression.

Eva had then suggested that he invite an up-and-coming model, Mika Drake, and Victoria had nearly dropped her façade. Relieved when Edward had declined, she'd remarked, "It's a stupid idea!"

Eva had instantly dismissed her response. "Many celebs have arrangements like that, and you know it. Masen's being nominated; he should have a date." She'd turned to Edward then. "I'm friends with Mika's agent. She says Mika's not only beautiful; she's nice," Eva had said and, noticing his reluctance, had added, "No pressure; just think about it. It would be great publicity for you both."

Outside the meeting, Victoria had laid a hand on Edward's arm. "She's right. You'd get more media coverage if you had a date, but I think you should go with someone you know and trust."

"I'll think about it," Edward had responded, and Victoria, believing she'd successfully planted the seed, had felt satisfied. She'd hated that Edward had turned to other women for sexual gratification, but those liaisons, she'd rationalized, had been casual and meaningless—the women, in her view, nonentities. Meeting and dating a potential super model had been an entirely different matter. Victoria had considered Mika Drake or anyone of that ilk a danger to her plans—not quite as threatening as Bella but close.

Victoria's self-congratulations had been premature because Edward, a week later, had asked Eva to arrange a meeting with Mika, and Eva had, for the first time since learning of his split with Bella, mentioned her. "I know who you'd rather have with you—are you sure you don't want to ask her?" she'd answered his request.

"Bella's moved on," he'd responded tersely. Eva had nodded, saddened by the heartache in his eyes. "Let me know what Mika says. I'll take her to dinner, and we can see how we get along," Edward had added before he'd left. And that's how he'd entered into the first of three short-lived relationships with celebrities.

Mika had, as Eva had promised, been beautiful and 'nice,' but after dating her for a while, Edward had found her obsession with her appearance and becoming famous boring.

Victoria had been furious on the night of the awards. She'd nearly bitten through her cheek to stop herself from venting her anger. Accompanied by Mitch and other Arrius executives, she'd been forced to watch the leggy, blonde model clinging to Edward's arm. She'd been even more incensed at the media attention the couple had received. Each time a reporter had yelled, "Masen, who's your date?" or another had asked Mika, 'who're you wearing," Victoria had thought, 'that should have been me.'

Victoria had wondered if she'd overplayed the friendship card and had vowed, then, that she'd 'up her game, and that, one day, she'd be the woman standing next to Masen, that she'd be the one smiling into the camera as she rattled off some designer's name.

. . . . .

That day, Edward's last on campus, Bella had surreptitiously looked back. The sight of him walking away had torn at her heartstrings, but stubbornness, pride, perhaps the fear of being hurt again, or just pure survival instinct had prevented her from calling him back.

Over the next weeks, she'd listened as her friends had continued to encourage her to 'be strong.' "Don't be a pushover. Men like him think they can get away with anything," Hayley had said many times

Bella, still smarting and devastated, hadn't been able to summon the energy to argue that Hayley hadn't, in fact, known Edward. Her friends, including Erin, only knew Masen, she'd thought. Reluctantly, Bella had conceded that Edward, it seemed, had become truly become Masen. 'There's no place for you in his new life,' she'd convinced herself.

Bella had tried to avoid news about Edward but, inevitably, someone would inform her or show her the latest magazine article or the latest photo of him, always, it seemed, related to some female. Each of those instances had pierced her heart like anew. Bella had wondered whether she'd ever heal. "The best way to get over a man is to get under another," Erin, wanting to lighten Bella's mood, had joked one day.

Bella hadn't been able, then, to contemplate ever being intimate with anyone other than Edward. But, as one month leaked into another, and despite everything, she'd still been unable to stop thinking of Edward, she'd wondered if there had been merit in her friends' advice to accept an invitation from one of the men who'd expressed interest in her.

"What about Todd?" Erin had asked about a pre-med student who, after almost knocking Bella over in the library, had asked her out. She'd refused, but he'd stopped to talk to her several times after. Bella had shrugged off the suggestion.

"Well, what about my cousin, Bran?"

"Maybe," Bella had conceded, and Erin, delighted by the thought of her friend taking the first step to moving on, had immediately arranged for a group outing that weekend. Bella, who'd met Brandon soon after she and Erin had become friends, had instantly liked him. He'd seemed introspective. 'A lot like Edward,' she'd thought at the time. Brandon, although attractive, lacked Edward's devastating good looks and magnetism, but for Bella, when she'd agreed to the date, that had been a bonus.

That Saturday, when, in Bran's company, she hadn't experienced that deep emotional or physical pull toward him as she had with Edward from the very beginning, but Bella, instead of feeling disappointment, had felt relieved.

That date led to another, and another, and another. Soon, Brandon had become a fixture in Bella's life. She'd shied away from any intimacy, and in those first weeks of getting to know each other, he hadn't tried, even once, to kiss her anywhere other than her cheek. Bella, thankful, had rightfully assumed that Erin had explained her history with Edward.

Then, one night when she and Bran had again been out with friends, the song filtering through the pub's speakers had been replaced by Beautiful Home. The shock of hearing Edward's voice had knocked the breath from Bella's body. Her eyes had found Erin's and pleaded for something, anything to stop the sudden onslaught of pain. Erin, at that moment, had appeared as surprised as Bella. Brandon, however, had wrapped an arm around Bella's waist. He'd leaned in and kissed her mouth. Wanting, desperately, to block out Edward's voice, any thought of him, Bella had returned his kiss. Erin, seeing this, had smiled. No one else in their group had been aware of the mini-drama unfolding. Someone else, however, had witnessed the kiss. Jake, who'd been there to meet a friend, had left, his heart heavy for Edward.

* * *

 **As always, thank you for reading.**

 **Before I get down to housekeeping, I'd like to address any readers who live in the areas affected by Hurricane Harvey or have family and friends who live there. My thoughts and prayers are with you.**

 **My sincere thanks to the ladies at The Lemonade Stand for recommending Unplugged, and thank you to those readers who, having found the story there, decided to check it out. I'm delighted to have your company.**

 **To all who boarded the Unplugged train at the first stop; thank you again, especially those readers who have taken the time to review. You make all the effort worthwhile.**

 **And, finally, I don't usually answer such questions, but quite a few readers have asked about this. I anticipate one, perhaps two, but no more than three more chapters (depending on how verbose I become) before we have a significant time leap and catch up to the period just after the epilogue and chapter one.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**

 **PS: To all my US friends and readers. Have a wonderful and safe Labor Day!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul aka FoolForEdward.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Thirteen**

Edward's second album, Unplugged, had met with even more success than the first. His triumph had, unsurprisingly, resulted in more media attention and, with it, his celebrity status had increased. He could no longer venture out without being recognized. Almost always, there seemed to be either fans or the tabloid press waiting to ambush him. And so, with the rise and rise of Masen, and with no one to keep him grounded, Edward became deeper and deeper submerged in the life of his alter ego.

Seven months following the release of Unplugged, and two years after he'd walked away from Bella, Edward had, again, been touring. In the first planning meeting, Edward, thanks to Chez, had insisted on limiting his time on the bus. "So, lookin' forward to playin' live again?" Chez had asked when he and Edward had discussed the upcoming tour.

"Nothing like it," Edward had smiled at the memory. "But, shit, I hate being on that bus." Chez, who'd heard Edward's account of his first tour, had said, "You a big star now; just tell 'em you ain't doin' it." Edward, after a bit of convincing, had told Kevin and Mitch that, and to his surprise, they'd readily agreed. Bolstered by his success, he'd added, "Also, I expect my airline tickets to be treated as part of touring costs," and again, both had accepted his terms.

Two facts had instigated Chez's advice. First, he'd genuinely believed that Edward, especially given the promotional obligations he'd be expected to fulfill while touring, deserved the consideration. Secondly, he'd rationalized, it would limit the time Edward would spend in James' company. Chez had never particularly liked James, but, witnessing his bad influence on Edward since his breakup with Bella, and, believing that James had been exploiting Edward's unhappiness, he'd grown to despise him. "He can play the geetar, but he ain't that talented. He's ridin' on Edward's shirttails," he'd pronounced to Daphne on many an occasion. Whenever he'd said that, almost invariably, he'd shake his head. "I dunno what coulda happened to break up that pair," he'd say because neither he nor Daphne, having witnessed Edward's adoration of Bella could believe they'd separated. "The music world does that to people," Chez had then reminded his wife, and she, too, had shaken her head.

Daphne, when learning about Edward's drinking and clubbing, through magazines, had confronted Chez. "Did you know this?" she'd asked, slapping the offending item onto the kitchen table. "Why didn't you tell me?" And then, before he could answer she'd said, "You set that boy straight. Carousin's not gonna win Bella back."

"It's not our business," he'd answered, pushing the magazine aside. "Besides, you forgettin'; he didn't end things with Bella; she broke up with him! He's allowed to have a bit o' fun!" Chez had defended his friend, not daring to tell Daphne the full extent of the carousin' as she'd called it. If he'd told her of the many times he'd rescued Edward, drunk, from a club, she would have had not only his hide but Edward's too.

Chez had tried, whenever he could, to watch out for Edward. Often, when he'd worked in the vicinity of any of the nightclubs that James and, by then, Edward frequented, Chez had dropped in. On many such occasion, he'd managed to get Edward out and home before he could get into too much trouble. Luckily for Edward, in his years of driving celebrities, Chez had grown adept at dodging the media.

He had, however, faced a dilemma. As Edward's friend, he'd wanted to and had, indeed, done everything he could to protect him. But Chez was also an Arrius employee, one expected to turn a blind eye to the excesses of the label's stars. His and Daphne's livelihood depended on him keeping his job, so he could only do so much. He'd felt indebted to Aro because the man had employed him, a washed up wannabe musician, when no else would. Besides, Chez had rationalized, he'd tried talking sense into Edward, but Edward was a grown man. He could advise him and watch out for him, but he couldn't force him to do anything against his will.

While Liam and Alec, when learning about Edward's travel plans, had accepted the change with an easy shrug, James had felt resentment. He'd made a snide comment to Edward about success going to his head. " _You_ face the media after a gig in almost every city or town, then I might feel sympathy, but I don't James, so fuck off!" Edward had responded, and James hadn't pushed the point because, despite his envy about what he saw as a 'lucky break,' he liked him.

He did, however, confront Victoria. "It's _his_ album, and the tour's to promote that album," she'd snapped. Victoria had, only just, stopped herself from reminding James that he was a backing musician, albeit a talented one, and, as such, dispensable.

James' eyes had narrowed. "We had a deal, Vic, and _so far_ , I've kept my promise." Victoria had heard the implied threat, and James, knowing how vindictive she could be when crossed, had settled for the subtle warning. He'd wanted to remind her that, despite him keeping their bargain, she still hadn't managed to get Masen between her sheets and eating out of the palm of her hand as she'd predicted.

"We had a deal," he'd repeated instead.

"Masen doesn't need a co-writer, James," she'd returned acidly.

"You should have thought of that before, Vic. A deal's a deal. You'd better get on with it because, under his contract, Masen's only got one more album to make."

"He'll renew," she'd said. "Our artists don't leave."

"It's been three fucking years, Vic. The next album, or our deal's off," he'd said and left.

Victoria had slammed her office door shut after snapping at her startled assistant to, "Hold my calls." She'd sat at her desk, incensed, at James' temerity. 'How dare he,' she'd thought, and then, when considering her monumental failure with Edward, she'd become even more frustrated. She'd tried everything—being his friend, and, after the Mika incident, she'd been more blatant in her overtures—and, still, no success. Victoria had thought seeing the back of Bella would drastically change the way Edward viewed her, but, in the last two years, he'd dated a model, an actress, and a TV producer. And, often, when he'd been drunk enough, he'd had sex with groupies. 'What the hell's his problem?' she'd fumed, because, to Victoria who'd never had trouble attracting male attention, the fault lay with Edward and not her. 'This ends now,' she'd vowed.

With the tour underway, Edward had, indeed, been spared his earlier aggravation with being cooped up on a bus. Traveling by air for most of the legs of their journey, particularly the longer distances between stops, had also, as Chez had hoped, reduced his time in James' company and, consequently, tempered some of Edward's recently acquired excesses.

His concerts had, again, been resounding successes. He'd performed to full houses, and, again, driven to greater heights by their audience's fervor, he and the band had played out of their skins. The chants of 'Masen, Masen, had grown ever more thunderous, if that were at all possible, as his fans became excessively more vocal and demonstrative in their adoration. The crowds, primarily female, that gathered at the end of each concert, hoping to get backstage and, ultimately, into the dressing room had swelled with each performance and subsequent media coverage and tweet-fest.

This tour had more stops and more concerts at each venue, and by the time they'd reached New, York Edward had already been exhausted. He'd dreaded this leg of the tour from the start, and, if he could have, he would have avoided it. That hadn't been possible, and so, as they'd neared New York, he'd tried, instead, not to relive the happy memories of his last performances there and in Philadelphia. Mostly, he'd wanted to forget the catastrophic way the tour had ended. Edward's method of escaping his pain and the loss of Bella had been to drink, and when that had failed, he'd numbed those feelings with sex. The relief had always been temporary but, at least, he'd had a temporary escape. To Edward, that had been better than the alternative, and so, in New York and when he'd arrived in Philadelphia he drank even more than usual.

Alice, nearly nineteen, at the second of his Philadelphian concerts, noticed the change in her brother. Arriving backstage with a group of her friends, she'd frowned at the way a female fan had touched his chest. Edward hadn't reciprocated, but still, there'd been something in his acceptance of the familiarity that unsettled Alice. She'd waved, and Edward, seeing her, had smiled a genuinely happy smile. 'An Edward, not a Masen smile,' Alice decided when comparing it to his expression only seconds before.

The bevy of females surrounding him had looked peeved and stared vindictively at Alice. Neither she nor Edward had paid them the least notice. "Shrimp," he'd hugged his sister joyfully, and she, reciprocating equally enthusiastically, had dragged him away by the hand and introduced him to her friends. He'd spent ages with Alice and her group. She, having desperately missed her brother, had clung to his arm, and Edward had practically ignored anyone else in the room.

Later, when James had yelled, "Mase, you ready to move this party to your suite?" he'd answered, "Not tonight." James, well on the way to drunk, hadn't recognized Alice, who'd done a lot of growing up since he'd last seen her. "Invite the pretty girl. The more, the merrier," he'd leered.

"I said no, James!" Edward, his voice, dripping ice, had stopped him before he could say something more offensive. Edward entertained Alice and her small group in his suite instead, and later, when she'd despatched her friends, she'd turned to her brother. "You've changed," she'd said.

Edward had brushed off her comment, tweaked her nose, something he'd done when they were younger. "So've you," he'd said, "all grown-up and doing first-year pre-med."

"Don't avoid!" she'd told him. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing's _going on_. I'm working, living my life." Edward said, his voice laced with warning, but his sister, who'd inherited the same determination that ran through Edward's veins, hadn't been deterred.

"There is. Why do you drink so much, and why do you let those women touch you like that? For Sex?" she'd demanded.

"Fuck!" Edward had muttered, elbows on his knees as he'd gripped his hair. "Alice, you're too young to understand—"

"Don't patronize me!" she'd snapped. "Is this about Bella?"

She hadn't missed the pain in her brother's eyes before he'd composed his face into a blank mask. "I don't want to talk about her!" he'd snapped.

"Why not? What happened between you two? You were never like this before—don't do this, Edward, not while you're in Philly. It would break her heart to read about you and other women, especially, here."

"Why the hell would Bella care? She made it very fucking clear that she didn't want anything to do with me!" he'd snapped, swearing, something he'd never done when speaking to his sister before. "Tell me, Alice—can you tell me that she's not with someone right now? That's she's not sleeping with someone right now?" he'd demanded bitterly. Alice, who'd heard the underlying desperation, couldn't give Edward the reassurances he'd wanted, shook her head. Her eyes had welled with tears as she watched her brother pour himself a large shot of bourbon.

A short while later, when he'd called her a cab and walked downstairs to see her safely inside, Alice had clung to Edward. "For mom and me, then; please don't act up while you're home," she'd begged, and Edward had nodded.

The next night, after his last performance in Philadelphia, he had, again, avoided James' after celebrations. Earlier that day, he'd contacted Jake, who'd attended his first concert, and arranged to meet him after the gig. Late the next morning, he'd boarded a plane to join the tour in Houston. Dallas had been two stops away.

 **. . . . .**

James had heard voices quietly arguing. One he'd recognized, so he'd stayed hidden and listened.

"What're you doing here?" Victoria had demanded.

"What's it to you?" the other woman had answered in a Texan drawl.

"Don't get smart!" Victoria hissed, and James had grinned. The woman, it had been apparent, didn't know Victoria well.

"I'm here to finish what I started," the female had responded snidely.

"Did you really think I'd let you get your hands or any part of your body on him?" Victoria had laughed meanly.

"I got pretty close the last time."

"And that's as close as you'll ever get," Victoria had said, and her voice, acid, had been threatening.

"You can't stop me," the woman returned, and Victoria had laughed again, this time victoriously.

"Maggie, do you really think I paid you to do what you did without buying myself insurance? I know all about your little boy…what's his name? Bobby, right? I also know that Bobby's dad's itching for a reason to sue for custody of his son. So, get the hell out of here, and don't ever go near Masen or try to contact him, or you'll regret it," Victoria said, and then, a few minutes of silence later, added. "Go—now!"

James had waited for Victoria to emerge from behind the bus. "Nice work, Vic. What did you pay Maggie for, exactly—to drug Masen; to fuck him? You set him up, didn't you? You're responsible for his breakup with Bella!" he'd accused her, smirking.

And Victoria, who'd prided herself on the veneer of sophistication and professionalism built over years, had let her façade slip. "Fuck off, James!" she'd spat, reminding him of the girl from a poor LA suburb he'd married nearly a decade before. Then they'd both been starry-eyed about becoming a successful Hollywood couple. But there, behind that bus in Dallas, the venom in her tone had reminded him of how fast and far that dream had plummeted when he'd realized that, for Victoria, he'd merely been an escape from her drunk, abusive mother.

"I won't say a word about what I've just heard, but, we have a deal Victoria. Keep it, or I may change my mind," James had responded.

"Are you blackmailing me?" Victoria had asked incredulously. James laughed.

"Isn't that what you just did?"

"That's different," she'd protested.

"How?" he'd scoffed. "Make it happen, Vic," he'd warned and left.

Victoria had watched James go, mentally cursing. More than ever before, she'd regretted not divorcing him. Only Victoria and James would know why they hadn't divorced each other when they'd separated. Perhaps the bond of poverty had kept them from making that decision, or maybe the shared memories of their rotten childhoods had, or because they knew each other better than anyone? Whatever the reason or reasons, Victoria had decided, after that exchange, that as soon as she'd delivered on the dumb promise she'd made, she'd divorce James. 'I'll explain it all to Masen— _when_ I have him where I want him,' she'd told herself because she'd understood, then, the need to break James' hold over her.

Edward had traveled the nearly three-hour journey from Austin to Dallas on the bus with the band, John, who had, again, assumed the role of tour manager, and a couple of their lighting and sound technicians. At seven on the morning of their arrival, he'd checked in at his hotel, ironically and unknown to him, the same place where Bella had spent that dreadful night.

He'd woken, feeling empty and on edge. 'Can't wait to get out of this fucking place,' he'd thought as he ordered food. After eating, he'd showered and dressed, ready for the inevitable radio interview. He'd still felt apprehensive when, at four, he'd arrived at the venue for their sound check. Edward had been grateful that, due to greater ticket sales, they were playing a larger arena. He couldn't stand the thought of being in the same dressing room where, according to Bella, he'd betrayed her.

Many in their crew noticed Edward's unusually bad mood. "What the fuck's wrong now?" James demanded when Edward had, again, snapped at him. "Steve's asked you to dial up your mid-tone! Concentrate for fuck's sake; we don't have all night to wait for you to stop dicking around—and get the crew to move your fucking amp like you were supposed to!" Edward shot back.

James had wanted to argue about the amp's position, but Hank, their own sound engineer, had calmed things. "Steve knows this venue," he'd said, and James nodded sullenly, and then stood aside as two crewmembers moved the equipment. The tension of the altercation lingered for the rest of the check.

Edward left to find his driver as soon as Hank and Steve expressed their satisfaction. Back at the hotel, still irritated and feeling at a loss, he'd taken a beer from the fridge and did the only thing other than talking to Bella that would make him feel better about being in what he'd referred to as 'the fucking cursed place.' He uncased his Martin and worked on a song he'd been unable to exorcise from his mind. Edward had sworn it would never feature on any album because it epitomized his loss and hope, and he'd long since given up hope of winning Bella back.

That night, on stage, Edward had shrugged off his melancholy to deliver another spectacular performance. James, also, had gotten over his pique and the two guitarists had, once again, seamlessly interacted. After two, extended encores, Edward, James, Liam, and Alec had left the stage high on adrenalin and dripping with sweat. In the dressing room, Edward had grabbed a beer and downed it, quenching his parched throat. He'd stood, his torso bare, fresh t-shirt in hand, when James offered him an empty glass and held up the bottle of bourbon in invitation. "Fucking awesome playing, Mase!" he'd said and grinned, his way of apologizing.

"Awesome!" Edward repeated and, smiling his own apology, downed the shot James had poured.

"Drink up," James urged, our groupies will be here soon." He winked and refilled Edward's glass before doing the same for Liam and Alec. The words had barely left his mouth when, Gary, their head of security, had popped his head in the door.

"Ready," he'd asked glancing around before he'd rested his eyes on Edward.

Edward nodded and, a moment later, the dressing room had filled with people, as always, predominantly women. Edward determined not to think about the past, had thrown himself into signing autographs, answering the women's inane questions, and allowing their hands to brush his arms and his chest. When a blonde, braver than the rest, skimmed her hand down toward his crotch, Victoria had appeared, distracting him with a question about his return flight to LA. "Can't it wait, Vic?" he'd asked.

"Mitch wants me to call a meeting with Kev to discuss the European tour."

"We've done that," Edward had responded, but Victoria shrugged. "You know Mitch," she'd said, and Edward, knowing how Mitch could, at times, be pedantic had tamped down his frustration.

He'd nodded at Victoria before addressing the blonde. "Don't leave," he'd said, and she'd smiled like she'd just won the lottery.

Victoria had surreptitiously signaled Gary as she'd led Edward away. She'd motioned to the blonde and her two friends huddled together, giggling and whispering. Moments later, the three women—the blonde protesting and trying, in vain, to capture Edward's attention—had been escorted out.

Edward, having finished his discussion with Victoria, had glanced around. The woman, who he'd decided he'd spend the night with, had disappeared. She'd been incredibly attractive, but that hadn't been her main appeal. Her height, her coloring, her brazen look; the fact that she'd been the polar opposite of Bella had been her drawing card because Edward had wanted, desperately needed, to forget Bella and her distraught face when she'd given her account of Dallas. He vowed that, whatever it took, no matter what statistics anyone quoted, fan bases, record sales, or concert profits, he'd never revisit the city.

Victoria clung to Edward's side for the rest of the night as he, the band, some of their crew, fans, and hangers-on kept drinking. When some, including James, Liam, and Alec had wandered away, most with a female in tow, Victoria had turned to Edward. "Need some company?" she'd asked, stroking his bicep. He'd watched her hand through bleary eyes, his heart heavy at the prospect of spending a night reliving his memories or lack of memories of his last visit to 'this fucked up place.' "Sure; why not," he'd answered.

The next morning, he'd woken relatively early, which after a gig, especially after drinking that much, had been highly unusual. He'd turned his head, spotted the red, talon-like nails on the hand possessively covering his abs. He'd frowned and then groaned when he'd spied Victoria snuggled against him.

He'd urged his hung-over brain to work, wondering how the hell he'd get her out of his room. 'What the fuck was I thinking?' he'd castigated himself, and his subconscious had taunted him. 'You weren't; not with your brain anyway!' it responded. Edward carefully untangled himself, nearly tripped over the trashcan at the side of the bed, mentally slapped himself again when noticing the number of discarded condoms and realizing just how many times he'd transgressed. He agreed with his subconscious. He _hadn't_ been thinking with his right head. He'd wandered into the bathroom, and could have kissed the counter when seeing the toiletries, evidence of a woman's occupation.

He'd relieved himself and washed his hands before he'd crept back into the bedroom, where he'd gathered his clothes and dressed hurriedly, thankful that he'd remembered Victoria telling him she'd checked into the same hotel. He'd left her room, 'like a thief in the night,' he'd scoffed as he'd traveled the elevator to his room two floors above.

Victoria had stirred half an hour later with a satisfied smile on her lips. 'That boy can fuck,' she'd thought as memories of the night before had flooded back. She'd reached out and, touching the cold sheets had gotten up and wandered to the bathroom, planning on surprising Edward in the shower. Irritated when finding it deserted, she'd picked up the bedside phone and called his room. Edward who, having showered, had only just fallen back to sleep fumbled for the house phone and mumbled a greeting.

"Masen, why did you leave?" Victoria asked.

"I needed my own bed," he'd answered shortly, disliking her possessive tone.

"Mine's more fun, or I could come up there?" she'd offered, her tone had turned seductive.

"No, Vic. Last night was a mistake, and we shouldn't let it happen again."

"Why not; you enjoyed yourself didn't you?"

Edward sighed. "I did." He'd lied; well, partly. The sex had been satisfying, as evidenced by the discarded condoms, but for him, by then, sex had become a way to relieve physical need and, mostly, to escape. "But, still, it shouldn't have happened. We work together, Victoria, and we shouldn't complicate things," he'd finished.

"You're being stupid." Victoria had said, her anger evident.

"Hanging up now. I need sleep," Edward, unconcerned by her irritation, had answered and severed the connection.

"We'll see about that!" Victoria had spat and then, slamming her phone down, she'd thrown the bedding aside and stomped to the bathroom. There, she'd stood under the shower fuming and plotting her next move.

Later that day, James had accosted her. "So, our plan's off to a good start," he'd said, and Victoria, still incensed by his blackmailing and her disappointment with Edward had responded, "Our plans? I don't have plans with you!"

"But you fucked him, didn't you. Couldn't have been that good; you don't have that glow you always had when I'd had you."

"Masen can fuck you under the table any day, James," she'd answered cattily and stalked away.

"But still, you're not satisfied," he'd muttered, smiling. And later, still, he'd realized that Victoria might have succeeded in bedding a drunk Masen but, sober, the man wanted nothing to do with her—well, not sexually. James had gained perverse pleasure from that knowledge. He'd hoped that when he made it big that Victoria would realize her mistake and return to him. After all, he'd rationalized, 'we belong together.' Or maybe I'll tell her to fuck off, he'd decided a moment later.

Edward had spent most of his waking hours of his second and final day in Dallas holed up in his hotel room. He'd arrived at the arena on time for their sound check, and he'd then spent time on the bus with the guys before the show. After, he'd hung out with John and a couple of the crew on the bus where he'd fallen asleep. He'd been aware of Victoria's constant presence. He'd been polite, included her in general conversation, but he hadn't, not once, allowed himself to be alone with her. Late the next morning, he'd traveled to his hotel, where he showered, packed, ordered food and then, two hours later, left for the airport.

Victoria had watched Edward, growing steadily more frustrated throughout that final day, but there had been nothing she could do. She'd never before met a man who, once he'd had sex with her, had been so reluctant to repeat the experience. She'd wanted to leave, show Edward that she didn't care, but she couldn't risk Maggie defying her and turning up. The day of their departure, she and Edward boarded separate flights to Los Angeles, less than an hour apart. Victoria, who'd initially told her assistant, "Make sure Masen and I fly back together," had changed her booking. 'Let him think about what he's missing' she'd thought.

Edward had felt no such thing. Instead, he'd boarded his flight, relieved at her absence.

 **. . . . .**

"I'm not ready," Bella had answered Brandon, sighing because they'd revisited this discussion so many times over the last six months, she'd lost count.

"Why not? We've been together for nearly two years—" he'd countered.

"I've already explained, Bran."

"And it makes no sense, Bella. Why won't you move in? You're here three nights a week as it is."

"I know, and that's enough—for _now_ ," she'd added when seeing him grimace. "I have my studies; I don't want or need any distractions." This time, Bella's impatience had bled into her voice because she'd failed to understand why he couldn't be satisfied with things as they were. They'd been dating exclusively for nearly two years as he'd said because, about a month after that night in the pub, he'd asked and Bella had agreed. Three months later, Brandon had professed his love, but Bella hadn't been able to return the words. Instead, she'd tried to show him how much she cared. She'd hoped, _believed,_ that in time she'd grow to love him. He was handsome, kind, loving, and attentive. Any normal girl would be mad not to, wouldn't they, she'd rationalized, and Bella had wanted, so much, to feel normal again.

Bella had liked being Brandon West's girlfriend. 'So what?' she'd argued with her subconscious when it had scoffed at her decision. 'So what if my breath doesn't catch each time I look at him, so what if my heart doesn't pound when he looks at me; so what if my skin doesn't tingle when he touches me? Look where all _that_ got me?'

"So, now I'm a distraction," Brandon had challenged and then, before Bella could respond, continued. "Were you ready to move in with _him_?"

"Who?" Bella had questioned.

"You know who," he'd said, ignoring her sudden pallor.

"Why do you ask; what's it matter?" Bella asked instead of answering.

"It doesn't matter why I asked. What matters, Bella, is why you won't answer," Brandon returned. The logic, his stubborn insistence to have this out, sparked Bella's defense mechanism and her temper, which, usually, isn't easily roused.

"I'm twenty-one, I have another four years of study ahead of me. I'm not ready to move in with anyone!" she'd snapped.

"Me, or anyone. You still haven't answered my question; were you ready to live with Masen?" he'd insisted.

"Edward, his name's _Edward_ , and yes, we talked about living together, but I was young, and stupid and…and—" Bella had stopped, her eyes wide as she'd realized what she'd been about to say.

"And what, Bella? Stupid and what?"

"Young," she'd replied stubbornly, and when he'd seemed ready to challenge her, she'd stopped him. "Look, Bran, I don't want to argue about this anymore. I'm going home, and we'll talk when we've both had time to think, okay?"

"Bella—" he'd protested, but she'd stood and kissed his cheek. "I'll call you," she'd said and left. Brandon, in the wake of Bella's departure, had cursed, wondering why the hell he'd raised the subject again—' _now_ , especially,' he'd chided himself.

Usually restrained in his responses, Brandon had been unable to stop himself.

He loved Bella and wanted a firmer commitment from her. He'd been wrong to push, he'd conceded, but Bella's behavior over the past weeks and his fear of losing her had prompted him to act.

He'd noticed a change in Bella as the hype in Philadelphia surrounding Masen's upcoming concerts had built. Erin had warned him to watch out for Bella. "She's still vulnerable," she'd said but, almost two years into his and Bella's relationship, Brandon had dismissed her concern. He'd listened to his cousin go on and on about how talented, how sexy, and how much Bella had loved the rock star. He'd also heard how thoroughly he'd shattered her with his betrayal. Frankly, Brandon considered Masen a dick. _Edward_ , he'd scoffed as he'd reminded himself, remembering Bella's passionate rejection of his stage name. He couldn't argue about his looks or his talent, but he couldn't accept that anyone would cheat on Bella, and he'd found it even more unfathomable that Bella could love someone so shallow; childhood friend or not.

Nevertheless, Bella _had_ changed _._ As the dates for the concerts neared, she'd become more and more pensive, and their interactions that had always been easy, suddenly felt strained.

"Are you worried about seeing him?" he'd asked her when they'd passed a magazine stand with a photograph of Masen emblazoned on its cover. He'd known that she'd seen it too, her pained expression confirmed that, and, yet, she'd pretended ignorance.

"Who?" she'd asked.

"Masen," he'd said.

"I don't care what he does," Bella answered and had changed the subject. Brandon, however, hadn't been convinced. Then, one day, weeks later, while out lunching with a group of friends, a young woman at another table had waved Bella over. When Bella had left their group to chat, Brandon had watched. The woman, it had seemed, had been pleading, and Bella had shaken her head almost vehemently. The woman had smiled sadly, and kissed Bella's cheek in farewell.

"Who was that?" Brandon had asked when Bella returned to his side.

"My neighbor," she'd answered almost shortly. Intrigued, he'd pushed. "What's her name," he'd asked.

"Alice Cullen," Bella had said and engaged Erin in conversation. Later, from Erin, he'd learned about Alice's relationship to Masen. He'd decided, then, to confront his fears head-on, and so he'd asked Bella, again, to move in with him.

They had, as Bella had promised, spoken—three days later, and Brandon had accepted Bella's decision not to live with him. At a base level, he'd understood and accepted her reasons. She was still young, and she _did_ have years of study ahead of her, and law school was not easy.

Her near admission about having loved Edward, however, had chafed and continued to bother him even weeks after when, finally, she'd told him she loved him. Brandon, at twenty-five, a teacher, who'd majored in English understood the different forms of love. And, while he'd acknowledged that Bella might have what is termed Philia, or affectionate love, for him, he doubted that she loved him in the way she'd loved, possibly still loves, Edward. For him, Brandon had suspected, Bella felt most if not all of the eight forms of love described by the Ancient Greeks.

Six months later, Bella and Brandon had mutually and amicably agreed to go their separate ways.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **So much has happened since I last posted, so please bear with me as I take up a bit more of your time.**

 **First, I'd like to express my sorrow and most sincere wishes for a fast recovery to all and any who were caught in the wake of Hurricane Irma. I felt saddened and helpless sitting and watching from the other side of the world. All I could do is hope for as little damage and loss of life as possible.**

 **As always, I'd like to thank and welcome any new readers who've discovered this story and decided to read and then follow. A special thanks to Rita for the rec. If you haven't checked out her blog, Rob Attack, do so; it's well worth the visit. Thanks also to Rita and and Sue for the wonderful banner produced for Unplugged. Also, to Denise, my lovely Coppertop, for the pic of Rob, so apt for this story too. I wish I had a way to display both for all to see. I'll try, perhaps, if I can work out how to do it, feature each for a while as an avatar on this site for the story.**

 **I can now positively report that there will be one more chapter, with another significant time leap, until we've caught up to the events in Chapter One. From there on, we'll be dealing in the present. I'm as glad and anxious as many readers seem to be to get to that stage :)**

 **I hope I haven't missed out on thanking or acknowledging anyone. If I have, please excuse me. It's not intentional, but I'm rushing to post this chapter as I have another deadline looming. If I've missed any blatant errors, again, I apologize.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**


	16. Chapter 16

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **A/N: I'm breaking with tradition by placing this notice upfront, but I felt that the victims of the Las Vegas shooting deserve better than to be relegated to a postscript.**

 **I'd like to extend my condolences to the families and friends who are mourning the loss of loved ones. My thoughts and prayers are with you, with the injured, the residents of Las Vegas, and with all American citizens. Like everyone, I was shocked, saddened, and horrified, and hope, fervently for the end of such insanity.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Fourteen**

Edward had been relieved to leave Dallas, and he'd sworn, again, to never revisit the place. He'd enjoyed being back in LA, the semblance of normality offered, but the two-week break before he'd embarked on the European leg of his tour had done little to lessen his fatigue.

By the time they'd reached the UK, he'd been operating purely on adrenaline. In Birmingham, the first of their four-city stops, he'd practically fallen asleep during a radio interview, and later that day, after their sound, check, he'd found it difficult to stay awake. "Here," Liam had said, thrusting two orange pills into his hand.

"What's this?" Edward had demanded. He'd known, of course; recreational drug use is prevalent in the industry, especially while on tour. Musicians, their hangers-on, even crew members indulged. The sheer tedium of being on the road drove many to drink; and drinking and drugs for many in the industry, Edward had learned, went hand-in-hand. Wherever there were musicians, there were dealers eager to earn a buck or win favor.

He'd prided himself on not yielding to the temptation of drugs. 'The last bastion,' he'd often thought when contemplating his new lifestyle, and until Liam had handed him those pills, Edward had believed that he'd also avoided that particular pitfall. Unlike James, who indulged often and made no secret of his habit, and Alec, who Edward had witnessed high on several occasions, he'd never seen Liam pop pills or do lines. He enjoyed a joint and drank, just like him, so Edward had viewed Liam as the responsible member of Eclipse. He'd been taken aback by his offer—almost as shocked as he'd been in Amsterdam when a famous model had nonchalantly suggested they share a line of coke. No one who'd seen her work would have believed it. _He_ certainly hadn't thought it possible, and he'd told her so. 'There's a lot of partying in this business, and I need to stay thin and keep performing,' she'd shrugged off his refusal.

"You know I don't do that shit!" Edward had answered Liam.

"Mase, you can't tell me you're not tired as fuck. I sure as hell am," his fellow-musician had argued, and then, seeing Edward about to protest, added. "They help, and you don't have to take it all the time. _I_ don't. "

"No, thanks," Edward had said resolutely and dropped the pills onto the table.

"Keep it," Liam had waved him off.

Edward had tucked those tablets into his pocket. Years later, when Alice had asked him why he'd done that, he couldn't explain. "I don't know; maybe I was just too fucking tired to argue. Besides, I didn't take them that night," he'd eventually answered, and he hadn't. Edward hadn't taken the pills that night in Birmingham, and not the one after, or the one after that. But, a week later, in London, scheduled to play for the largest European audience of their tour when, again, he'd felt like death warmed up he'd told himself, 'Just this once,' as he'd swallowed a pill.

Edward's decline into habitual drug taking hadn't been instantaneous. For over year following the end of that tour to promote Unplugged, he'd only rarely indulged, but still, he'd been on the slippery slope.

 **. . . . .**

"No!" Edward had snapped.

"You need a fresh approach, and James is a good musician—"

"He is, but our styles aren't compatible," he'd cut Victoria off.

"It's your album. _You_ determine what you write," she'd argued.

"That's not how it works, and you know it!" Angry, Edward had stormed out of Victoria's office. He'd been sick and tired of regurgitating the same conversation because, for weeks, ever since they'd settled on a tentative release date for his third album, she'd haggled him about co-writing with James.

"I don't want to be part of a band," he'd told her the last half a dozen times, she'd raised the subject.

"Co-writing a couple of songs won't make you part of Eclipse. Many artists collaborate," she'd returned.

"They do; with artists they choose; with people whose music they believe in and like. James' and my tastes couldn't be further apart if we tried!"

"You sound great together now; what's different?" she'd challenged.

"Playing _my_ fucking music! He's been part of a backing band for nearly ten years; of course, he's good at playing someone else's songs. If you think he's that great, why don't you sign him as a solo artist?" he'd questioned in return.

"I'm not doing this for James. Nearly all the recent male artists' hits have been from bands."

" _Boy_ bands," he'd practically spat the words, "and that's total bullshit. Those hits are evenly split between soloists and groups. Besides, we've been through this," he'd reminded her of their conversations before he'd signed his contract. "I haven't changed my mind," he'd stated.

Victoria hadn't responded, and Edward had mistakenly thought that she'd accepted his decision. Victoria, on the other hand, had, more than ever, regretted the rash promise she'd made in exchange for James' silence. She'd also been irked by Edward's resistance, which, had made it difficult for her to get James off her back. Also, the ongoing argument with Edward had worsened her already tenuous position in his life. In the two years since she'd first enticed Edward into having sex, they'd repeated the act only a handful of times. 'Four years, nearly four damned years,' she'd groused about the time since his separation from Bella, 'and I still don't have what I want.' The only balm to her pride had been the thought that no one else had succeeded where she'd failed.

That night, when considering her options, Victoria had decided to enlist Mitch's help. She'd dropped snippets about how bands were soaring in the charts, how artists had increased their popularity and fan bases by collaborating. Soon, the seeds she'd planted bore fruit. Mitch, of course, had no idea of her ulterior motives or duplicity. He'd trusted his A&R execs to do their homework and make smart decisions; after all, their jobs hinged on their success, and Victoria had been one of his more astute and most successful employees.

At the next meeting to discuss his album Mitch had championed Victoria's proposal. Edward had, naturally, disagreed. "Masen, there's plenty of merit to the suggestion, and, as Vic's said, we're not asking you co-write the entire album; just a few songs. It shows versatility—progress," Mitch had countered.

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea; I just don't want to write with James. Our styles aren't compatible," Edward had insisted, throwing Victoria an icy glare. He'd said more, but Mitch had interrupted. "Just give it a shot, Masen," he'd announced decisively and left to attend another meeting.

"It'll be great; you'll see," Victoria had tried to appease Edward, but her smile had slipped when seeing his cold fury. She'd braced herself for another argument, but Edward hadn't said a word. Instead, he'd turned on his heel and slammed the door of the meeting room, so hard, the frame had shuddered.

He'd wandered the streets to calm down and think, but it hadn't been long before he'd been recognized and approached. In no mood to be genial, he'd gone home. Home to Edward, then, had been an enormous apartment in the chicest part of West Hollywood—a far cry from the tiny place he'd decorated for Bella. Yet, as he'd sat, staring out at the panoramic view of Los Angeles, a symbol of his success, he'd felt angry, still, and miserable.

He'd tried, over the years, not to dwell on the past, but in moments like then, when he'd wanted desperately to speak with someone who truly knew and understood him, his mind still turned to Bella. Sighing, he'd reached for his phone. Drew Benson returned his greeting with surprise.

"I should have kept in touch, but…you know—" Edward had started to apologize, but Drew had cut him off.

"No need to apologize, Masen,"you've been busy," the lawyer had responded and congratulated him on his success. The pair had chatted about Edward's music for a few minutes before Edward said, "I need some advice."

"Oh?" Drew had answered expectantly, and so Edward had explained the situation. "I didn't think they could force me to collaborate with anyone," he'd ended.

"They can't. Arrius signed you for your songwriting abilities, and your contract doesn't give them creative control, but there _is_ a clause that stipulates that they need to accept the content. I think, from memory, it says the Label needs to approve the album as being technically and commercially satisfactory," Drew advised.

"What exactly does that mean in this case?"

"You're still using Arrius' studios for recording, right?" Drew asked, and Edward agreed. "So you don't have to worry about technical standards, and your last albums were enormously successful, so commercial viability shouldn't be an issue either."

"So I can refuse to collaborate with James?"

"You can, but it could cause tension, and that could prove an ongoing problem. The last thing you'd want is to end up arguing the matter in court. Just think about George Michael's case against Sony," Drew cautioned and explained the artist's eight-album contract, which granted the company the right to reject any material it didn't like. "George lost, and it cost him millions. The dispute also stalled his career for years. Just consider things carefully before you act, Masen," he'd concluded.

Edward had thanked Drew and hung up feeling more disgruntled and undecided than ever. "Fucking Victoria," he'd cursed and, as dusk descended on the city, he'd grabbed a beer and sat on his terrace to contemplate his options. It took him weeks to decide, and, in the end, he'd decided that he'd collaborate with and feature no more than three co-written songs on the album. Victoria had felt triumphant, but her elation had been short-lived when she'd realized that Edward hadn't forgiven her. In fact, he'd laid the blame for the unwanted situation squarely at her feet, and, consequently, Victoria's hold on Edward became even more fragile.

Despite often being exasperated with his fellow guitarist, Edward's relationship with James had always been easy and one of mutual professional respect, but during their songwriting sessions, that connection had also suffered. Their musical styles _were_ poles apart as Edward had stated, but more than that, their creative processes differed. Edward's music had always been influenced by his emotions and experiences, whereas James, it appeared to Edward, drew his inspiration from other hit songs. In fact, he'd realized after a while, that he'd _wanted_ to emulate popular hits. "This is huge now," he's say, or, "People want this kind of lyrics," he'd argue when Edward rejected a particular approach or phrases. "It's not _original_!" Edward had said more often than not. "Nothing's original; everyone's inspired by something or someone," James had shrugged off the comment. "Well, most artists worth a damn don't deliberately copy others," Edward had invariably responded angrily.

They both possessed fiery personalities, but James had, in the past, been forced to defer to Edward's star status. At that time, however, emboldened by what he'd seen as a golden opportunity to carve a name for himself in the industry, James had dug his heels in. The pair had head-butted often, loudly, and lengthily. Many sessions had ended with James storming out, and Edward smashing something in a fit of frustration. Victoria had tried to mediate, but her involvement only exacerbated Edward's anger. "Get the fuck out," he'd ordered both her and James from his apartment after one especially heated disagreement. After that, he and James had worked from one of Arrius' studios, but the venue change had only improved things marginally, and, in the end, their efforts had produced five songs. "They're not bad; just not _me_. They feel contrived," Edward had confessed to Jason.

James had lobbied for, and even Victoria had suggested that they include all five on the album, although, she hadn't been as forceful as she'd been about the collaboration. Edward, however, had held fast to his three-song concession. He should have been satisfied with what many would have considered a small victory, but he hadn't been because his own music had suffered through the process. Too churned up and resentful about being manipulated, for the first time when writing and composing, he'd been unable to immerse himself in the creative process completely.

During recording, Edward had stuck to his rule of not drinking before and during sessions, but at the end of each day, filled with frustration and disillusionment, he'd turned to alcohol and, for the first time since returning from England, he'd, again, taken the occasional stimulant. He'd hoped that things would improve after his third album's release, just weeks before the end of his five-year contract, but they hadn't. From Edward's perspective, the situation had worsened during his promotional appearances, especially after Victoria had, again, successfully orchestrated events to have James and the other members of Eclipse accompany Edward.

In any other circumstances Edward would, most probably, have welcomed his fellow musicians' presence in interviews, but, as he'd feared, many DJ's and, subsequently, members of the media, had referred to the album as 'Masen and Eclipse.' Edward's fear of being viewed as part of a band had been realized.

A month after the album's release, with mixed responses from fans and the media, and with sales forty percent below his last album's takings, rumblings of discontent had started among Arrius senior management. "Aro's not happy," Victoria had reported back to Edward.

"He's not the only one. How do you think _I_ feel?" he'd demanded. Victoria had ignored his question. Instead, she'd said, "he wants to know what's up with you."

"Did you tell him? Did you tell him that you and Mitch insisted on me co-writing?" Edward, incensed had yelled.

"Masen, three songs don't sink an album," Victoria had brazenly responded.

"I'll tell him myself," he'd threatened, but Aro, he'd learned, had been traveling and would be away for months. Edward had felt helpless, and the pressure on him had mounted.

To compensate for weak sales, he'd agreed to Mitch's proposal of an extended and more rigorous touring schedule than he'd undertaken before. Extended tours mean more traveling, more idling away between gigs, and more partying. Partying, inevitably, leads to more temptation—alcohol, eager women, and the seemingly obligatory entourage that surrounds rock stars, those ready to push or those seeking drugs.

The abnormality of a rock star's life, particularly on the road, and the ever-present enticements it brings would pose a challenge for any person, especially the young and vulnerable. But for Edward, whose equilibrium had already been upset through the creative process, faced with the added stresses of slumped record sales, and the need to perform day after day in public and night after night onstage, the burden had proven especially cumbersome. Five months later, in the middle of his tour, he'd switched from five-milligram tablets to ten-milligram capsules, and pretty soon, he'd become reliant on stimulants.

In that period and the months that followed, the darkest period since moving to LA, drink and drugs had become a constant in his life. Very little semblance of Edward, the boy from Philadelphia, remained. Masen, rock star had taken over, and Masen, it appeared to those who'd cared about Edward, had been hell-bent on destroying himself. His moods, affected by alcohol, drugs, and depression had turned erratic, and his temper, always quickly stirred, had been more easily ignited. He'd also become bitingly sarcastic, and cared little for the women who'd thrown themselves at him. In fact, it could be argued that he'd wanted to punish them as much as he'd wanted to harm himself. No one had seemed capable of reaching Edward—not Alice, not Esme, and not Jake. They'd all, to a greater or lesser degree, tried to stay in touch, but he'd shunned every attempt.

Esme had tried, many times over the years, to have Carlisle reach out to his son. She'd succeeded only once after a bitter argument. "Don't you have any regrets?" Esme had asked, her tone, accusatory. "Of course. Does he?" Carlisle had answered and had been shocked when she'd called him a cold-hearted bastard. Esme had moved into the guest room and refused to speak to him for a week. Finally, after apologizing and listening to another warning about losing his son forever, Carlisle had called Edward.

Edward, who'd listened to his father saying, "I'm hoping to talk some sense into you," had deleted the message without listening to the rest. That night, he'd drunk even more than usual. "Fuck him," had been his last coherent thought before passing out. Perhaps if he'd listened longer he might have detected the longing in Carlisle's voice, and, if Carlisle's approach had been more conciliatory, Edward might have returned his call. Alice, who'd overheard her parents discussing Edward's non-response a few days later had rightly accused her father of doing 'too little too late."

Edward _had_ had moments in that trying time, sometimes hours, and occasionally days, most often when Chez had intervened, that he'd reverted to his old self, but those periods had been short and had become a rarity because Edward had spent months touring, and Chez had a job and life to maintain. And, so, Edward's downward spiral had continued.

Victoria, motivated by professional concern and because she hadn't given up on her personal ambitions, had tried reasoning with him, but Edward had ignored her. To him, she'd become just another desperate woman. Matters between the two came to a head on the night when she'd burst into his room to evict a groupie.

"What's happened to you? You've turned into a pig—a drunk, junkie pig. No wonder you can't hold onto relationships" she'd demanded, referring to celebrities he'd dated.

" _I_ dumped those women because they were soulless and fame-hungry—like _you_. "And you and I aren't in a relationship; we fuck— occasionally—when no one else takes my fancy," he'd retaliated.

"Don't expect me to keep covering for you. I'm through," Victoria had threatened.

"I don't need you. My music speaks for itself," he'd countered, and their ensuing exchanges had become even more vitriolic.

In the end, Victoria had, finally, surrendered her hope for a relationship with Edward. She'd accepted that her plans hadn't succeeded. For, although she'd slept with Edward, infrequently, he hadn't ever dated her, so he'd never been hers. She _had_ accompanied him to a music awards ceremony as she'd wished, but, again, it hadn't been what Victoria had imagined. She'd walked the red carpet with Edward, but so did James, Liam, and Alec. She'd looked stunning, but no one in the media had acknowledged her as a celebrity or anyone significant to a celebrity. No reporter had asked about her dress, and no media outlet or magazine had referred to her as Masen's girlfriend. 'I was a distraction—a convenience, like he said,' she'd concluded.

As for Edward, Victoria's confession about why she'd wanted to sign him and how she'd manipulated him, had given him a glimpse of her true nature. He'd castigated himself when remembering her calling him gullible. He hadn't known the full extent of her underhandedness, but, still, he'd congratulated himself for not being foolish enough to date her. 'If I'd known how much of a bitch she is, I wouldn't even have fucked her,' he'd thought.

In the months following that argument, their relationship and Edward's with Arrius had soured even more, and negotiations for renewing his contract had stalled.

Edward had continued his pleasure seeking ways. He drank as much, if not more, popped as many pills, but something had changed. The people he mixed with bored him; the women, despite their obvious attractions, repelled rather than enticed him. No longer did James' mantra of 'we own the fucking world,' excite him; drive him to indulge in every excess. Instead of participating, more and more, Edward sat on the periphery, drinking and watching the spectacle that had become his life through jaded eyes.

One night, at a club, one of his and the band's regular haunts, he'd collapsed. A security staff member had acted quickly and managed to transport Edward to a hospital without gaining too much public attention. Edward had woken the next morning to Chez's worried face. He'd frowned, confused, "Where am I," he'd asked, his voice a whisper-quiet rasp.

"In a goddam hospital. What the hell you doin'? his friend had demanded.

Edward frowned. "I was at the club—" he'd murmured as his memory returned.

"Where you passed out. No one could wake you," Chez had cut him off. "You hafta stop doin' that shit. You gonna kill y'self," he'd added, watching as Edward raised his hand, the dull green of his eyes sparking with shock when he'd seen and felt the tug of the IV drip.

"What's wrong with me; how long have I been here?"

"Since one this morning, and you know better'n me what's wrong," Chez answered. "Anyway, I need to go to work. Daphne will come and see you, but Mase, you need to call someone. You want me to call Bella?" he'd suggested.

Edward had turned his head, but not before Chez had spotted the pain flit across his face. Edward had swallowed hard in the protracted silence that followed. Finally, when he'd met his friend's eyes, he'd seemed resigned. In a hollow voice, he'd said, "Alice. Call my sister…her number's in my phone."

Chez nodded, his relief evident, as he'd reached into the drawer of the metal bedside table. Later that morning, a doctor visited Edward. "We had to perform tests to treat you, Mr. Masen," he'd said after scanning Edward's chart. "Has a doctor prescribed the dextroamphetamine you're taking?"

"No," Edward had answered, not bothering to mention the incorrect use of his name. The doctor hadn't been surprised by his response. Edward guessed the man had seen and heard it all before.

"It's dangerous to use that drug recreationally; especially when coupled with alcohol."

Edward ignored the lecture. Instead, he'd asked, "Can I leave?"

"As soon as the nurse removes the drip and checks your vitals. You were severely dehydrated and exhausted. Excessive alcohol, no doubt caused the dehydration, and exhaustion is a common side effect of stimulant abuse," the doctor had warned.

"Thanks for the advice. When will the nurse check on me?" Edward had replied.

"Soon. Be careful, Mr. Masen, or the next time, I may not be signing your release forms; I could be pronouncing you dead," the doctor had issued another warning and left. Edward had laid his head back, and, sighing, had closed his eyes. Despite his nonchalant attitude, he'd recognized the wake-up call.

Daphne had arrived in time to drive him home. She'd insisted on accompanying him into his apartment and had alternated between scolding and fussing over him. "At least you were smart enough to call your sister," she'd said, nodding her approval. "Should've called your mother so she could kick your ass," she'd added, and Edward had smiled wryly.

"I'm too old to have my ass kicked," he'd said.

"If you were mine, no matter how big or old, I'd kick your ass. Can't say I'm not tempted right now." Her threat had been more than playful.

"Thanks… for being here," Edward had hugged Daphne gratefully, and she'd wrapped her plump, motherly arms around him.

"Wise up," she'd told him, squeezing affectionately, and then, after assuring herself that Edward had food in the house, Daphne had left.

Alone in his apartment, surrounded by the trappings of his success, Edward had wandered, aimlessly, from room to room. He'd stopped in the soundproof studio he'd had constructed. "What the hell does it all matter if I'm not enjoying my music," he'd thought just as his phone had rung.

Recognizing the caller ID, he'd regretted his bout of weakness. It's just that Chez had caught him unawares when he'd offered to call Bella. He should have called Alice to reassure her that he was okay, but he'd been too caught up in his thoughts.

The phone had stopped, then started again. Edward had almost pictured the determined look on his sister's face. "Alice," he'd answered.

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," she'd said without preamble.

"It's not necessary—" he'd protested, but she'd interrupted.

"It's not up for debate. Are you okay to meet me, or should I get a cab?"

"There's nothing wrong with me, and, as I tried to say, you don't need to come all the way over here. You have classes," he'd argued.

"That's my problem, not yours," she'd snapped and, despite his rising irritation, he'd laughed. He'd forgotten, again, that his little sister had been all grown up, twenty-two with an undergraduate degree. "Can you pick me up?" Alice demanded.

"I'll pick you up. What time are you arriving?" He'd feigned resignation when, in fact, he'd felt excited about seeing her.

"Ten," Alice had informed him.

"What the hell?" Edward exclaimed, "why can't you be normal and get a later flight?"

"I'm three hours ahead of you, in case you've forgotten. I am normal; _you're_ the one who no longer is," she'd answered, and Edward had grimaced, recognizing the direction their conversations would take.

"See you then, Shrimp," he'd told Alice.

"Can't wait. Take care," she'd answered, her voice softened with concern.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I'd like to welcome new readers and those who've sampled and chosen to follow and/or favorite Unplugged. Thank you for your support. And, of course, my heartfelt thanks, as always to those who've been on the journey from the very start. Your support and encouragement makes all the effort (and lack of sleep) worthwhile.**

 **Also, if you found one paragraph in this chapter familiar, you're not going mad, I assure you. I felt that, for reasons of continuity, that particular text belonged here, so I included it. I've also deleted it from the last chapter. It's not a significant change, and most readers would probably not have noticed. But, as I felt sure I'm not the only pedant in the world, I thought it best to mention it ;)**

 **Finally, this chapter, as promised, concludes our journey into the past. The rest of the story unfolds in the present. Edward is twenty-six, closing in on twenty-seven, Bella's twenty-four going on twenty-five, and Alice, as we've learned, is twenty-two.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**


	17. Chapter 17

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **A short note before reading. All preceding chapters are based on the past. We are now in the present, approximately six years after Edward first moved to Los Angeles.**

 **Unplugged Chapter Fifteen**

Edward views his apartment with new eyes, checking for things he wouldn't want his sister to see. He inspects his studio and moves the half-empty bourbon bottle into a cabinet and locks the door. He checks his suite thoroughly, scoops up the capsule bottle from the bedside table, retrieves one from the bathroom cabinet and shoves both into his underwear drawer, satisfied that, even at her most determined, Alice wouldn't forage in there.

He scrutinizes the living room and kitchen just as thoroughly and then wanders around the rest of his spacious home, places he rarely ventures—not on his own and definitely not in the company of others, or when he's been drinking or taking drugs. In fact, he muses that his cleaner probably sees more of these rooms than he does. 'No chance of any incriminating evidence here,' he assures himself.

Physically and mentally exhausted, stressed by his hospital ordeal, and how, the next day, he'd have to admit to his little sister how thoroughly he'd screwed up his life, he spends most of the day in reflection and sleep. Late that night, still anxious, he pops a capsule. 'Just one,' he tells himself, missing the irony of how that phrase had started his insidious habit.

 **. . . . .**

Edward hadn't realized how much he'd missed his sister until he spots her, craning her neck while searching the sea of faces in the baggage claim area where they're meant to meet. He rushes forward and weaves his way through the throng of people and then, within feet of her, calls her name. She turns and, seeing Edward, launches herself at him. He lifts her off the ground, and they cling to each other for long moments. "Shrimp," he greets her, his voice thick with emotion, and then, as he gently places her down, says, "Welcome to LA."

"I can't believe this is my first time here," Alice responds equally emotionally, and a wave of remorse assails Edward. He'd moved into his apartment soon after completing his Unplugged tour almost three years ago, and he hadn't once, in that time, invited Alice, nor Esme for that matter, to visit. And, except for contractual obligations, he hadn't visited Philadelphia either. Consequently, he'd seen his sister thrice and his stepmother only twice during those years. They'd tried to stay in touch through phone calls and email, but his lack of response had seen their attempts dwindle to a mere trickle. His actions had been stupid and selfish he readily concedes, but then, hell-bent on punishing himself and avoiding any reminders of Bella and his life in Philly had permeated every thought and every deed.

Alice, apparently, harbors no grudge. She chatters non-stop and clings to his arm—while standing at the carousel waiting for her luggage, in the limousine he'd arranged, and while riding the elevator to his apartment. Alice bombards him with details about her classes, her recently acquired boyfriend, Tim, a fellow med student, their hospital volunteering, and Esme's practice expansion. She even briefly mentions their father, usually a taboo subject, but, not once, does she raise the reason for her visit.

"Are you writing?" she asks just as they reach his apartment door.

"Yes but nothing significant," he answers, unwilling to reveal the creative wilderness he's been in since his last album debacle. Thankfully for Edward Alice is distracted, first, by the spectacular views, and then the decor.

"Do you want to see your room now or later?" he asks

"Now, please. I want to freshen up," she says.

"The view's almost as good from here," he tells her when they reach the guest room, and then, after placing her suitcase on the ottoman, points to an adjoining door and says, "Bathroom's through there."

In the living room, he sits on the sofa, leans his head back, and expels a calming breath in anticipation of the questioning he's sure will come when Alice returns. She, however, grants him another reprieve when she insists that he buy her a 'Hollywood coffee' and 'show her around.' In the basement garage, she gushes when confronted by his black Audi TT convertible. "Ooh! Fancy car!" she teases.

"Not as fancy as many you'll see," Edward says.

"Well, I love it. Can I drive sometime?"

"Sure," he responds easily, "as soon as you get used to the traffic."

"Cool!" Alice beams at him, the sight bittersweet for Edward. He hasn't seen a woman smile so guilelessly at him since Bella. The same regretful nostalgia hits him as they wander down Hollywood Boulevard and the Walk of Fame with Alice clinging to his arm. As the day progresses, Edward's headache, his lethargy, and the feeling of restlessness—the one that would typically have him reaching for a capsule or two—worsens. He tries valiantly to suppress them, but, by late evening, before they leave for dinner at a ritzy restaurant, he succumbs. He pops a couple.

Over dinner, he expects Alice to mention his hospitalization, but she doesn't. Neither does he. Edward resolves to wait until they've spent a couple of carefree days together. "It's the least I can do after three years,' he thinks. As for Alice, she's equally determined. She'd worried about Edward for quite some time and, when Chez had called with news of his collapse, had suspected the cause. She spent the night before leaving for LA researching addiction and, after, had decided to observe Edward before confronting him.

"How do you put up with it?" Alice asks about the many times, just that day, Edward had been stopped for selfies or autographs.

"I've learned to live with it—mostly," he tells her. "Many of those people buy my music. The least I can do is give them a photo."

"Have you gotten used to being constantly gawked at too?"

"I hate it, but there's nothing I can do except become a hermit. Fans usually move on once you've stopped for a photo. The paparazzi, though, _they're_ fucking relentless, and don't get me started on the tabloids and the shit they print!" he said, his voice filled with disgust.

The next day, walking along Rodeo Drive, when Alice stops to peek into the Prada store, Edward insists on buying her a pair of sunglasses. Seeing her admire a handbag, he asks the consultant to wrap that too. "I'm a student; I don't need something like that," she protests.

"You'll be a doctor one day; use it then," he tells her. "What about Es?"

"Chanel's more her style. You could get her a scarf or something," Alice suggests, and so they visit that store where Alice chooses a scarf and, at Edward's bidding, a handbag for Esme. "You're extravagant," his sister accuses him outside.

"I'm not. Do you see me wearing a flashy watch or rings like some musicians?" he challenges.

"Well…" she responds cheekily. "There's your _flashy_ apartment, the car, all those guitars."

"Essentials!" Edward claims and, wrapping an arm around her neck, threatens to tickle her.

"Uncle, uncle!" she giggles, squirming away. Alice is excruciatingly ticklish—something Edward discovered soon after they'd met—and, growing up, he'd found it a useful tool in getting her to stop bothering him.

"Can I drive?" Alice asks at the car.

"Sure." Edward hands over the keys. "Want to see Venice Beach?"

"Hell, yes!" she answers excitedly. Behind the wheel, she reaches back to delve into one of the shopping bags, produces her new sunglasses, and places them on her pert nose before turning to smile widely at Edward.

"Which way?" she demands.

"Pull out; second on the left," he says. They're silent for much of the half-hour journey. While Alice enjoys the light breeze ruffling her hair and the sunshine on her skin as she hums along to Rihanna's Diamonds, Edward reflects on how pleasant it is to, once again, enjoy his sister's company.

That night, they join Chez and Daphne at a pub to listen to a blues band. The outing proves another bittersweet experience for Edward because Alice, as he'd known she would, adores the couple as much as Bella had. The next day, they explore Edward's West Hollywood neighborhood, and that night, he and Alice meet Eclipse and a group of Edward's other friends at a nightclub. 'Friends!' Alice mentally scoffs less than an hour after they arrive as she observes women fawning over the musicians, Edward especially. There are male hangers-on too, waiting like scavengers to pick the bones of the celebrities' leftovers. 'Parasites, all of them,' she decides.

She watches her brother too, and to anyone who doesn't know Edward, truly know him, he looks relaxed, normal, but Alice sees what they fail to. Edward drinks excessively, not more than James or others in their group, but much more than he'd consumed before his rise to fame. She also notices his agitation—the bouncing knee, the way until, a while after he excuses himself to visit the gents, he becomes animated. Thankfully, he doesn't leave her side, doesn't dance with anyone but her, and puts an end to James' advances, and, around one a.m., when Alice suggests they leave, he doesn't protest.

Late the next morning, Edward enters the kitchen where Alice is sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of fruit and yogurt. She watches him gulp down two, tall glasses of water in quick succession before she slides from her stool, pours him a cup of coffee and hands him the mug. "Want something to eat?" she asks. He declines by shaking his head.

"Edward—" she says, but he holds up his hand.

"My head's killing me, Shrimp. I need a couple more hours' sleep, and then we'll talk, okay?"

"Do you want some Advil?"

"No, thanks. Will you be okay for a while?"

"I'll work on my assignment," she tells him. Edward drops a kiss on her head and leaves without finishing his coffee. Three hours later, Edward, again, finds his sister in the kitchen; this time, making sandwiches.

"When did you get so domesticated?" he teases.

"Since you hardly eat."

"I eat," he says, any trace of humor leaving his voice.

"Not enough. You used to eat like a horse."

"I eat when I'm hungry. Besides, I'm no longer a growing teenager," he argues.

Alice chooses not to respond. She doesn't say what she wants to—that lack of appetite is a side-effect of the drugs she suspects he's taking. Instead, she slides a chicken and salad sandwich onto each of the two plates she retrieves. She pours two glasses of orange juice before pushing a plate and glass in front of him. "Let's eat in the living room," she says, leading the way.

Edward would prefer a beer, but he recognizes that the time for talking has come. He'd wanted to initiate the conversation, but his sister, it seems, has beaten him to the punch. He's not sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, it saves him from having to find a suitable opening for the subject but, on the other, it leaves him on the back foot.

They sit at either end of the sofa, each staring out over the Los Angeles skyline as they contemplate what to say until, finally, Edward turns to his sister. "Say what you want to, Alice," he tells her.

"What're you on?" she asks.

"Dexedrine," he admits after an awkward silence. Alice is both shocked and relieved. She'd felt he'd either deny it or get angry because that's what the articles she'd read online had warned her would most likely happen.

"How many and how often?"

" It depends."

"On what?"

"Fuck, Alice…on how I _feel,_ okay!" Edward drags both hands through his hair before, resting his elbows on his knees, he repeatedly tugs at the strands.

"Don't get mad. I just want to understand." Alice pleads.

"You _can't_. How the fuck would you understand my life; what I've been through, what I go though every day!" Edward raises his voice and looks up at her. Alice flinches at the intensity of the hurt and anger raging in his eyes.

"Maybe, but I could try," she says. Another protracted silence follows during which Edward wars with himself about what and how much he should reveal. Alice shows patience, an almost non-existent trait in any born Cullen.

The next hour or so proves harrowing for brother and sister. Their exchanges, at times, become heated as their very similar temperaments clash. Edward's revelations about drug taking and womanizing mortify him and drive his sister to tears.

"What about your drinking?" Alice presses.

"What about it? Practically everyone drinks, especially in my business," Edward responds defensively.

"You didn't before," Alice points out, and then, when he's about to argue, adds, "not that much—not like you do now."

"I'm not an alcoholic!" he says, irritation flaring once more.

"Maybe not, but alcohol mixed with drugs like Dexedrine is dangerous, Edward. You could die; I don't want you to die. Do _you_ want to die?" she demands. More tears run down her cheek.

Edward swallows hard but doesn't reply. Alice recognizes his silence for what it is, an admission of the potential danger. The truth is that, in the hospital, Edward had realized just how close he is to becoming another in Hollywood's long line of celebrity drug statistics.

"What're you going to do about it?" Alice asks.

"Stop the drugs. I've already cut back," he admits.

"When last did you take any?"

"Last night…at the club," he says much to Alice's relief. To her, Edward's frankness is a positive sign; one she hopes will lead to him to seeking help. Before she can raise the subject, he stands abruptly. "I'll be in my studio for a while," he announces.

Alice supresses the overwhelming desire to follow him but decides against it, knowing that when Edward's this upset, his music's the only thing that helps. 'That and Bella,' she thinks, wondering again what could have happened to break up the couple who had, to her, epitomized every girl's romantic dream. Maddeningly, both Edward and Bella remained close-lipped when asked. She refused to discuss Edward, and all he'd say was, "I fucked up." How or why Alice doesn't know, but she finds it hard to believe that Edward would deliberately have jeopardized his relationship with Bella.

Over the next days, Alice continues to monitor Edward. She knows he drinks when retreating to his studio because, once, when he returned, she smelled alcohol on his breath. She watches for but, thankfully, doesn't detect any sign of the sudden euphoric behavior he displayed at the club; something she's learned is a symptom of taking drugs like Dexedrine. Her research has also helped her understand just how much Edward must be struggling. His insomnia and increased bouts or irritability are testaments to his efforts. She worries about their effects on Edward's physical and mental well-being.

This concern motivates Alice to mention rehab. Edward insists that he doesn't need help. "I've stopped the Dexedrine," he tells her. "I'm not an addict," he snaps when she persists.

"You're not begging on the streets, and you're still functioning, but how long do you think it will last? You're struggling to give it up; you _want_ it. Right now, you're thinking about those capsules aren't you?" she challenges.

"You're right; you're fucking _right_! Is that what you want to hear?" he demands in return.

"No. I want you to get help. I love you, and I don't want to see you _dead_!" she yells and, dashing away the tears pouring down her face, storms out. Alice stays in her room for the rest of the day. Edward, again, retreats to his studio. There, he does what he's done for days. He thinks long and deeply about his life; what he wants from it, what he's achieved, how he's achieved it. He thinks most deeply about his losses, the people in his life who mattered and those who are still alive and still matter. He concedes that Bella's a lost cause to him, but he can still salvage his relationships with Alice and Esme, he concludes. He'd long since given up on Carlisle.

When Alice, red-eyed, emerges, she finds Edward in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. "Hey," she greets him. He strides over to her and, without speaking, hugs her close. "Want some coffee?" he asks.

"Sure," she says.

He fills another cup, prepares it the way she likes it, and hands it to her. He waits until they're both settled on stools before speaking. "I've been looking at rehab places," he tells her.

 **. . . . .**

"It's a good offer, Bella," Charlie says, his voice persuasive.

"I know, Dad, but I want to explore my options."

"I thought you liked working at the firm."

"I do, but I want to make my own way…be more than just Charlie Swan's daughter."

"It'll only be for a while…until you make your mark," he says, apologetic now.

"I'm proud to be your daughter, Dad," Bella tells Charlie, reaching for his hand, "and I've enjoyed DH&B, but I want to make it on my own. _I_ don't want, and I don't want my colleagues to think I'm advancing because of you. _Please_ , Dad," she adds, cutting off his protest.

'She's being reasonable,' he tells himself, and, as difficult as he finds it to accept, he also, grudgingly, acknowledges that Bella's no longer his little girl. She's twenty-four—almost twenty-five Renee had reminded him only that morning in bed when he'd grumbled about Bella declining a permanent position in his company.

"She's a grown woman…and a lawyer," Renee had said.

"I know _that_ —" he'd responded. 'I'm not blind or stupid!' he'd thought indignantly.

"Do you accept it, though?" she'd challenged and had _laughed_ at him.

"Of course," he'd huffed.

"Then let her live her life, Charlie. We've prepared Bella for the world. She's smart, and she's made good choices." 'Mostly,' Renee, who'd immediately thought about Edward, had mentally corrected herself. Breaking up, in Renee's opinion hadn't been a smart decision by either of them. She still didn't know why, exactly, Bella and Edward ended their relationship, but she remembered how miserable her daughter had been afterward, _despite_ her efforts to hide that fact. Bella had perked up, especially after she'd started dating again, but Renee hadn't been and remains unconvinced that Bella's happy—completely happy. None of her achievements, her friendships, the three relationships, nor any of the casual dates she's gone on in the past six years had made her eyes sparkle in the same way Edward had. Charlie, when Renee had expressed concern, had disagreed. "She's over the boy," he'd claimed, but, to Renee, Bella seemed, always, to be searching for something she'd lost.

"You're right," Charlie had interrupted her thoughts.

"Of course, I'm right. Bella interned at DH&B like you asked, and now she's made a decision. She won't change her mind; she's stubborn—just like you!" Renee had laughed at him again and, before he could object because, in his view, Bella got her stubbornness from her mother, she'd continued.

"Support her like you always have," she'd told Charlie.

So, in the kitchen, after breakfast, when Renee had diplomatically left, Charlie looks into Bella's eyes, so much like his, and follows his wife's advice. "Do what makes you happy, sweetheart. Your mum and I will support whatever you do," he tells her and then, standing, kisses her cheek before leaving for work.

Bella watches Charlie go, relieved that they've resolved the issue. She'd hated disappointing him, and she _had_ enjoyed working and learning at DB&H, and she'd liked the In-house Counsel, the man who would have been her boss, but her time there had also taught her something else—that she wasn't interested in investment banking. "In five or six years, you could be Staff Counsel in any of our global offices," Charlie had tried to persuade her, but even the prospect of travel hadn't enticed Bella. To her, the work hadn't felt _personal_ enough, and Charlie, when she'd explained, had looked nonplussed. "Bella, if you wanted personal, you should have followed a different law path," he'd argued. Bella disagreed but had remained silent. ' _People_ sign contracts; _people_ negotiate deals, no matter how many billions of dollars are involved,' she'd reminded herself.

In the following weeks, Bella explores every available employment opportunity for young, inexperienced lawyers. She realizes that it's not that easy to land your dream job. Based on her excellent graduation results and her time at DB&H, she receives a number of offers, but very few excite her. Accepting that she must start somewhere, she considers three. The first, with a multi-national recruiting agency, the second with a financial institution, and the third with a company specializing in mergers and acquisitions.

Charlie's away on business, and, in his absence, Renee tells her not to rush into anything. "Why don't you take a couple of months off?" she suggests.

"I can't, Mom. Do you know how many law graduates are looking? And let's not forget all the other lawyers out there with experience."

"Bella, you've studied to be a lawyer for nearly eight years. You said you didn't want to settle; why are you prepared to now?" Renee reasons, and then, seeing Bella waver, plays her ace.

"Wait, not only for yourself but also for your Dad. After turning down the DB&H job, how will you explain accepting any of those jobs?"

Renee beams when Bella capitulates. "Take a trip; we both could go. I'm sure your Dad won't mind."

"That sounds good," Bella smiles at Renee's enthusiasm. "Just for a week," she cautions, knowing her mother's propensity to go overboard.

Two weeks later, while out at a pub with three girlfriends, a favorite student hangout that she and her friends visit weekly, Bella offers to buy a round of drinks. Erin offers to accompany her, but she declines.

"I'll be okay," she assures her and wends her way to the crowded bar. There, Bella eventually manages to jostle her way to the front and orders four Peachy Margaritas. "Girls night out?" a smooth, distinctly masculine voice asks close to her ear.

She swivels her head and finds herself staring into a pair of attractive, twinkling blue-gray eyes. The smile that accompanies them is just as appealing. "The drinks," the man says, addressing her questioning frown. Ordinarily, Bella would rebuff a stranger who invaded her personal space, but, for some reason, almost involuntarily, she smiles.

"Yes," she answers, leaning back to get a better look at him. 'Definitely not a student,' she decides, and, despite his jaw-length dirty-blond hair, low slung jeans and faded rock t-shirt, mentally places his age at thirty. 'Ish,' she amends her assessment just as the barman returns with her order.

"Do you need help getting those to your table," the stranger again practically leans over her to ask.

"Umm," Bella hesitates, but before she can respond, Erin appears. "Thought you got lost," she says, staring at the man hovering at her friend's side. "Bar's busy," Bella says, shoving two drinks at a gawping Erin before she can say something embarrassing. She grabs the remaining drinks hastily and follows. "Nice talking to you," the stranger sounds faintly amused, and, not moving, forces Bella to brush past him. Despite her intention not to, she looks up at him. She instantly rebukes herself when seeing the almost smug expression on his handsome face, and then, as she flushes with embarrassment, his mouth lifts into a lazy, almost seductive smile.

"Who was that?" Erin demands even before Bella's seated.

"No idea," Bella, still mortified by their last exchange, answers shortly.

"Who?" Hayley asks.

"Some seriously hot guy—" Erin responds, but Bella cuts her off.

"No one; just some conceited, older guy," she says.

"How old?" Trish, their other friends, asks.

"I don't know, but whoever he is, he's too old to be that cocky," Bella claims. "Can we forget about him? How's the job-hunting going?" she asks, knowing that, like her, they're all, except for Trish, who's joined her uncle's small law firm, preoccupied with finding work.

A short while later, a server delivers four Peachy Margaritas to their table. "We didn't order this," Hayley says at the same time Erin, almost indignantly asks, "You can have drinks delivered to your table?"

The server glances over her shoulder at a table a short distance away. "Mr. Whitlock's a good customer." She smiles invitingly at the man sitting there. Bella, seeing who it is, snaps, "We don't want them. Please take them back," but Erin, rising out of her chair, waves and, smiling broadly, mouths, "Thank you!"

Bella yanks her down. "What are you doing?" she hisses.

"Thanking your admirer," Erin responds nonchalantly.

"Are you _crazy_? The drinks could be spiked!"

Erin rolls her eyes and addresses the server. "Did he touch them?"

"No," the girl answers immediately. "I brought them straight from the bar," she says, moving the glasses from the tray onto the table. "Here," she places a business card in front of Bella. "He asked me to give you this."

Erin grabs it before Bella can. "Jasper Whitlock, CEO, Sigel Records," she reads.

"Give me that," Bella snatches the card back, and without looking, shreds it. Return this to Mr. Whitlock, please." She pushes the pieces back at the server. "Tell him I'm not interested in his drinks, in him, or his details." She turns back to her stunned friends and, with a concerted effort, ignores the urge to look back at him.

An hour later, when they leave the pub, Bella can't help glancing his way. Relief floods her when, instead of him, she sees a young couple. 'Good,' she thinks. 'The last thing I want is to know someone connected to the music world, especially someone as arrogant as him.'

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Sixteen**

Edward's elbows rest on his knees, his head bowed and skin crawling with nerves as he tugs at his hair. He startles slightly when a small hand pulls at his wrist. He turns his head and smiles at Alice, grateful for her presence. The aching void that had resided in his gut for longer than he cares to remember has lessened since her arrival ten days ago.

He loved his sister from the moment they met, but they had never grown particularly close. Edward had attributed their four-year age gap and the markedly different relationship each sibling had with their father for the divide. To Edward, Alice was and remains Carlisle's favored child, the one he'd wanted, who lived up to his expectations—whereas he? He'd been a disappointment from the start. Edward hadn't resented Alice; but, with hindsight, he'd mentally admitted that he _had_ , whether consciously or subconsciously, kept an emotional distance—from both her and Esme.

Edward had reached that conclusion in the days after their 'big bust-up' as he and Alice now jokingly refer to their emotional outburst. To him, growing up, Carlisle, Esme, and Alice had been the family unit, and he the intruder—there on sufferance. Alice, by coming to LA, he'd realized after her emotional exit, had tried to bridge the gap. The least he could do was meet her halfway, and so, by the time she'd reappeared, he'd determined his course of action.

"You what?" she'd asked when he'd made his announcement, and Edward's eyes, despite the gravity of the moment, had sparked with amusement.

"Rehab…I've checked it out," he'd repeated, and Alice's smile had almost split her face. She'd nearly toppled from her stool in her rush to embrace him.

"Oh, Edward, that's _great_!" Her voice had cracked with emotion. "When did you decide—what did you find out...what're you thinking?" she'd demanded.

"Breathe, Shrimp," he'd said and gently unwound her arms from his neck. "I've been thinking about it since waking up in hospital," he'd informed her, "and then, seeing you so distressed—"

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," Alice apologized, but Edward brushed it aside. "You were right—" he'd countered, but then she'd interrupted.

"You were right too. I don't understand your life, and, although I can empathize with losing your mother, I don't know what that feels like. I also haven't been in love, so I don't know how it feels to lose that kind of love," she'd said, ignoring Edward's pained expression at her reference to Bella, "but I do know what it feels like to lose my brother, Edward."

"I'm sorry," he'd said, hugging Alice.

"No need. I understand; I was just a kid, annoying and spoiled. I was, but I'm not any longer—I'm _not_ ," she'd added when he smiled. They'd both laughed then. "Let me be there for you now," she'd pleaded, and he'd nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Do you want to hear what I learned?" Edward asked, and Alice waited eagerly. "It seems, there are two approaches," he'd started and then explained the differences between the control and the freedom or responsibility models he'd researched. "The most familiar control model is the Twelve-Step Program, I suppose, where you acknowledge a certain powerlessness to control your addiction. It's considered an ever-present disease that can be managed but not cured. Basically, you accept that you're in a constant state of recovery. The other thinking is that, in most cases, using alcohol and drugs is a deliberate decision—at least in the beginning. It's a choice that becomes a habit; like eating a particular food or sticking to a particular route to and from work, for instance. The people who run the freedom programs believe that drinking and taking drugs is a voluntary choice, and like all habits, they can be eliminated for good—if the user accepts responsibility for his or her choices," Edward told Alice.

"What's the success rate of one over the other?" she'd asked.

"About the same," he'd assured her. "So I guess it's a personal choice." They'd discussed the pros and cons of each model in-depth before Alice had finally asked.

"Do you _want_ to go into rehab?"

"Yes," Edward had answered without hesitation. "I don't want to be the person I've become; that's not who I set out to be. I need to make a lot of changes in my life, but stopping the drugs and excessive drinking, for now, is the most important."

"You said habit," Alice pointed out, "does that mean you've decided on the freedom model?"

"I think so. I don't want to spend my life with the mindset of perpetual recovery. Besides, with my career, I can't avoid being around drugs and alcohol, so I need to be able to deal with that," he'd answered.

"Have you looked at places?" she'd asked.

"Let's get some food, and after we've eaten, grab our laptops and check them out," he'd suggested. They rushed through dinner and then spent hours trawling the Internet, digesting information, and discussing Edward's options. Alice wanted him to contact a New York facility. "I'll visit you on weekends," she'd said.

"I don't think that's allowed, and I'd rather keep this between us," he'd said.

"I won't tell anyone," she'd promised, knowing that Edward had meant their parents. "I'll say I'm spending the weekend with friends."

"I don't want you lying for me," he'd said decisively.

"So Malibu then?"

"Yes. It's got a good reputation, and, apparently, they're used to the added privacy needs surrounding celebs," Edward answered. And that's how, several telephone calls, two face-to-face online interviews, and three days later, he'd ended up in a private reception room of the exclusive rehab center at the start of a thirty-day program. At first, Edward had insisted on checking in alone, but Alice, crestfallen, had protested. "You're not alone, Edward," she'd said, and he relented. Honestly, Edward had been both touched and relieved by his sister's love and tenacity.

The day before he'd been due at the facility, he'd decided to take a dear friend into his confidence. He arranged to meet Chez, who, after hearing about Edward's plans, had, uncharacteristically, hugged him. "Bout time you wised up," he'd said, the tremble in his gravelly voice giving away his emotion. He'd insisted on driving Edward the next day. "Daphne'll kick my ass if I don't," he'd settled the argument, and when he'd heard that Alice would be flying out directly after, he'd promised to see her safely onto her plane.

"Mr. Cullen?" a well-dressed, middle-aged man appears.

"Yes," Edward answers as he stands.

"Jack Evans, director here at The Sanctuary. The man extends a hand, which Edward shakes before introducing Alice.

"Would you join me in my office? I thought we'd get acquainted before you settle in," Evans invites.

"Sure," Edward answers and motions for Alice to walk ahead of him.

"I'll wait here," she offers, but Edward ignores her, placing a hand on the small of her back to guide her forward.

In his office, Evans ushers them to a sitting are. He offers refreshments, and when both Alice and Edward request water, he picks up his phone. Within minutes, a young woman appears with their drinks. Evans waits until she leaves before addressing Edward. "I wanted to make sure you didn't have any unanswered questions," he says.

"I don't think so. Your staff have been very efficient and helpful," Edward replies before turning to look at Alice.

"I don't either," she tells Evans. "You have a lovely place here," she politely adds.

"Thank you," Evans smiles, accepting the compliment. "Then, if you'll allow me, I'll ask just one, vital question, Mr. Cullen." When Edward acquiesces, he continues. "Do you wish to describe your current behavior as an addiction with a lifelong diagnosis of being in recovery, or do you see yourself as having developed a habit you can reverse completely?"

"I admit I'm finding it hard to kick the habit, but I don't intend remaining an addict, Mr. Evans," Edward responds, his eyes hardening with determination.

"Then you're in the right place, Mr. Cullen. Here, you won't be viewed as suffering from a disease, or powerless. You won't be considered a criminal or an addict; nor will you be seen as an alcoholic. At The Sanctuary, we believe that, in most cases, those descriptions are inconsistent with the reality of the habits developed. To us, such behavior demonstrates conscious choice, and so, we aim to help our guests with their decision-making problems, based on their evaluations. We intend doing the same for you, and I guarantee that, while here, you'll feel safe, cared for, and, most importantly, respected."

Edward thanks him, and Evans responds by asking, again, if either he or Alice has any questions.

"None," Edward tells him.

"Good. I'm sure you're anxious to get settled, so, I'll have Natalie show you to your suite," Evans says. Again, he lifts and speaks into his desk phone, and, as she had before, the woman from earlier appears. Half an hour later, Edward and Alice are alone in his sitting room. "This place is amazing," she says, but without the enthusiasm she'd displayed when gushing about the ocean views from his balcony, the depth of the wood-paneled bathtub, or when, sprawled on his bed, she'd called it 'floating on a cloud.'

"You should go. Chez is waiting, and you have a plane to catch," he reminds her.

"I wish I could stay," she laments.

"We'll FaceTime," Edward promises because The Sanctuary, rather than prohibiting contact with family while in rehab, encourages it; a fact that had pleased him nearly as much as it had Alice when learning about the policy. Pulling her to her feet, he embraces her. "I appreciate your support, Shrimp— more than you can imagine. I love you," he tells her, kissing her temple.

"Love you too. I'm so proud of you." She wraps her arms tightly around his waist.

"I haven't done a lot lately to make you proud—" he protests, but she pinches his side, smiling tearfully when he winces.

"I've _always_ been proud of you."

"I'll try to deserve it from now on," he answers, close to crying himself. He wipes a tear from Alice's cheek, takes her hand and, swiping his room key off the table, ushers her to the door. Outside, wanting to avoid an overly emotional parting, he doesn't linger over goodbyes. He offers Chez a handshake, but he pulls Edward into a manly hug. "Do what you hafta, and I'll see ya soon," he tells Edward, and then, with more promises to keep in touch, he helps Alice into the car.

Edward waits until the limousine disappears before returning to his suite, where he reads his schedule for the week. An unnecessary task he reminds himself; he's read it at least half a dozen times and thought about little else since he confirmed his stay at The Sanctuary. He moves to the balcony, hoping the sun's rays will calm him, but after less than ten minutes and failing to relax on the chaise, he returns indoors and removes his D-45 from its case.

Edward's playing is interrupted by a knock at the door. Opening it, he's greeted by a young woman whose eyes widen when seeing him. She's recognized him, it's clear, but neither he nor she acknowledges the fact. "Good morning…err…afternoon, Mr. Cullen," she quickly recovers, " I'm Gwen. I'll be the coordinator between you and your specialist team."

Her face heats when he invites her in, but to Edward's satisfaction, her quiet, "thank you," remains professional.

"I just wanted to introduce myself and to remind you that your medical assessment's at two-thirty. Do you know your schedule for the week?" Gwen asks when she and Edward are sitting in the living room.

"Yes; I've read it." He smiles wryly. "And please, call me Edward," he tells her.

"Would you like to have lunch before your meeting...Edward," she hesitates for a beat before using his name.

"I could eat," he admits.

"Would you like me to show you the dining room?" she asks.

"I'd rather eat here," Edward decides. He doesn't feel ready to mingle.

"There's a menu beside the house phone in here and the bedroom. I'll be back at two-fifteen," she informs him as she prepares to leave.

. . . . .

"How long will detox take?" Edward asks the doctor, Steven Briggs, as their interview draws to a close.

"It differs by individual and depends on how chronic or long-term the drug abuse has been. The initial, or acute, stage of withdrawal can last between two to ten days. For chronic and long-term abusers, however, the process is, more often than not, protracted, from one to six months. You've used dextroamphetamine for three years, but, as you've stated, not consistently. Also, when you weren't on a bender and gave in to your craving, you limited the dosage. That, to me, is very encouraging for your long-term outcome once we've purged your body of the drugs, Edward. With your history, I'd hope your symptoms don't extend too far beyond the acute stage," Briggs answers.

Edward's relieved, but the doctor elaborates. "In that time you can expect one or more of the following—body tremors, muscle aches and pains, nausea, perhaps vomiting; sweating, drug cravings, agitation, fatigue, dehydration, elevated breathing and heart rate," Briggs says, and then, seeing Edward grimace, quickly reassures him. "We aim to progressively reduce the drugs in your system to a point where abstaining no longer causes severe withdrawal. We'll ensure your comfort and safety throughout the process, and, if necessary, provide you with alternative, less harmful medications to ease your withdrawal. We also embrace a number of Western and Eastern practices to ward off the worst of the symptoms. Acupuncture, for instance, has proven effective in warding off cravings and has also eased other symptoms. We'll be with you every step of the way; don't worry," he tells Edward.

"When do I start?" Edward asks.

"You've already have—" Briggs smiles encouragingly, 'by admitting your problem, by being here. Your detox, though, starts immediately. You can spend the first couple of nights in our medical unit or remain in your suite; whichever makes you feel more comfortable. If you stay in your room, a member of my staff will visit you, starting after dinner and then periodically throughout the night and the next couple of days to monitor you and make sure you're comfortable."

Wanting to maintain as much of his privacy as possible, Edward opts to stay in his suite. "Fine," Briggs smiles and extends his hand. "I'll keep in touch in case you have any questions, and, of course, I'll see you on Friday for a checkup."

And so, nearly three hours after entering, Edward leaves the medical suite. He's been poked at and prodded, had blood drawn, and, embarrassingly for him, urinated into a plastic container, which he'd then had to hand to a young nurse. He answered a barrage of, at times, intrusive questions, and he, in turn, asked dozens more.

He feels apprehensive, still, about the hell he's sure he'll undergo while in detox, but optimistic about turning his life around. He also feels—in his words—'like a fucking idiot' for underestimating the effects of the drugs on his physical and mental health, for taking them in the first place, because some of the dire possibilities that Briggs had lengthily outlined had been frightening.

Many times over the next week, Edward _does_ feel like he's sunken to the very depths of hell. He's agitated, more than ever since swallowing that first capsule. Every part of his body aches, 'even my fucking hair,' he snaps at the unfortunate male nurse, who, in the middle of the second night, asks how he's feeling. The man, patient, suggests a warm shower, and, without responding, Edward follows his advice. He stands in the shower for ages, allowing the water to soothe his distressed body and mind. He's surprised when, returning to his bedroom, the nurse having smoothed his rumpled bedding, offers him a pill. "A sedative, Mr. Cullen, to help you relax and, hopefully, get some sleep," he says. Edward gratefully accepts.

In following days, Edward becomes increasingly moody; he suffers from night sweats, his heart palpitates nearly out of his chest, and his muscles ache and then ache some more. He feels nauseous, hideously so and almost constantly, but thankfully, doesn't vomit. What he experiences is, in fact, the complete opposite of what he feels after taking Dexedrine. He wishes, often, for the elation, the energy, the feeling that he can do anything, but, somehow, with the help of a team of dedicated nurses and Steven Briggs, Edward gradually feels more in control. On the twelfth day, he sits around a table with Briggs, one of six specialists who, with his input, will tailor his personal recovery program.

 **. . . . .**

He's here!" Hayley hisses, barely containing her excitement.

"Who?" Bella asks.

"The record guy," Hayley says, pointing. Bella didn't mean to look. In fact, the moment the words registered, she decided not to, but her body overrides her brain, and she finds herself staring. From across the room, Jasper Whitlock holds her gaze. He raises his glass, toasting her before turning back to his companion, an attractive blonde. Bella blushes, equally embarrassed and annoyed. She looks away but not fast enough to avoid the woman's sour expression when seeing her.

"So, still enjoying the job?" Bella resumes her conversation with Erin, who'd recently started working for a litigating partner in a medium-sized law firm.

"Loving it, and—" she replies, but Hayley butts in.

"He's still watching you. "You should speak to him!" she tells Bella.

"Don't be ridiculous—and stop _looking_!" Bella scowls at her friend.

"Why not? He's hot!" Bella really glares this time, and Hayley drags her eyes away.

"Because I'm not interested," Bella answers her. "Besides, I thought _you_ , of all people, would tell me to keep away," Bella says, her tone just short of accusatory.

"Again, why?" Haley persists, but Bella ignores her, addressing Erin instead.

"What about you? Why aren't you telling her to drop it?" she demands.

"This is different, Bella," Erin answers defensively.

"How? He's in the music industry, isn't he?"

"Yes, but—" Erin protests, but Bella cuts her off.

"Did you or didn't you agree with everything Hayley said about people in that business?"

" Bella…"

" _What_ Erin?" she challenges.

"Nothing," Erin says, ruffled because Bella had never, in the past, reacted vehemently about her or Hayley's condemnation of the industry. 'Masen— we criticized him,' she thinks and wonders now that the hurt isn't as raw if Bella resents them for it.

Erin, noticing Haley about to speak, surreptitiously shakes her head. Bella, unaware of the silent exchange, fights to control her irritation—at her friends' hypocrisy and herself for allowing them to get under her skin.

"Did you decide to accept any of those jobs?" Erin breaks the awkward silence.

"No," Bella informs her and explains her conversation with Renee. The friends move on from their near-altercation, but, for Bella, the exchange has, for the first time, made her question their advice during her most vulnerable period. 'It's in the past, water under the bridge,' she tells herself and shrugs off her sense of disquiet.

They're discussing Erin's belief that Ethan plans to propose when Hayley stops speaking, her mouth gaping as she stares at something over Bella's shoulder. Erin and Bella both turn. Shocked at his proximity, Bella struggles not join her friends, who are now both gawping.

"Did my business card offend you in any way?" Jasper Whitlock asks, sounding amused. At any other time, or perhaps with anyone else, she might have been entertained, but, for Bella, there are just too many similarities, too many things reminiscent in Jasper Whitlock that remind her of a time she'd rather forget.

"No. _You_ did," she answers and turns away, intent on continuing the conversation with her friends. They, however, are acting like spectators at a tennis match. Their heads swivel from him to her and back again.

"How did I do that?" he asks, his mirth still evident.

"Are you always this pushy or just obtuse?" Bella asks, barely glancing his way. He laughs, a pleasant sound she grudgingly concedes.

"Only when I'm interested," he tells her.

"Look…Mr. Whitlock," she softens her tone, hoping to appeal to his better nature. "I don't like being rude," she says, ignoring his raised brow at hearing her statement; "and I resent that you're forcing me to be. So, please, just accept that I'm not interested, and let me enjoy my evening."

"I apologize for forcing you to forget your manners, Ms…." he pauses expectantly. Bella ignores him. Hayley doesn't; she leans forward eagerly. "Swan; Bella Swan," she says. "I'm Hayley, and this is Erin."

"Pleased to meet you, Hayley—Erin," he acknowledges them with a mega-watt smile. He turns to Bella then, his expression contrite. "And you, Miss Swan. I wanted to apologize for upsetting you...you know, with my _business card_ ," he adds, his eyes shining with merriment once more. "Although, you couldn't have been too upset; you remembered my name," he says almost smugly, and then leaves.

Over the next month or so, when visiting the bar, they see him intermittently, always in the company of a female—a different one each time. Except for a few occasions when, accidently, she meets his gaze, Bella studiously ignores his presence. Hayley, however, nearly every time and much to Bella's frustration, waves and smiles, drawing his attention as if she's just spotted a long-lost friend. "What?" she challenges when Bella expresses disapproval, which she does often. "I'm just being friendly."

"You're encouraging him," Bella argues, but she's forced to admit that Jasper Whitlock has kept his distance. That is, until the night a group of boisterous, over-zealous men keep pestering her and her friends. Even outspoken, 'I love attention' and 'I never take a backward step' Hayley is intimidated. Bella wants to leave, but Erin, rightly, points out that the men may follow them outside. "I'll call Ethan; it shouldn't take him long to get here," she suggests because Ethan usually meets some of his friends at a nearby pub on the girls' nights out.

"We're just offering to buy you a drink?" One of the guys, the most aggressive, says, towering over their table. Bella cringes at the blast of alcohol-fueled breath that washes over her. Feeling brave, she stands. "I'm going to find a bouncer," she announces, hoping he'll leave.

The guy grabs her arm. "What the fuck's your problem?" he demands. Bella shrinks back, her eyes widening in alarm. Hayley and Erin stand, ready to support her, but before any of them can say or do anything, a cold voice speaks.

"I'd leave as the lady suggests—unless you want to be thrown out," Jasper Whitlock says.

The guy scoffs, eyeing Jasper belligerently. "Who's gonna make me? You?" he challenges.

"If you insist." Jasper's voice remains steely despite their discrepancy in size.

"Fuck off! You can't throw me out; you don't own this place." The guy closes the gap between him and Jasper, who stands his ground. He stares his opponent down before glancing over his shoulder, summoning a behemoth of a man whose dress and stance identify him as part of the pub's security team.

"I _am_ the owner. You can leave with or without help. Either way, you won't be allowed back in—ever," Jasper informs the troublemaker before turning to the males at the nearby table. "You're welcome to stay if you don't cause any more trouble," he says.

"Miss Swan, ladies, I apologize for your unpleasant experience. It doesn't compensate, but your food and drinks are on the house this evening," he tells them, and then, holding Bella's eyes for a moment, he excuses himself and leaves.

Bella slowly lowers herself back into her seat. She's not sure what shocked her more; the big guy's aggression or the bombshell Jasper Whitlock dropped. Erin and Hayley's words buzz in her ears, unheard, until Erin touches her arm where, already, bruises are forming. "Are you okay," she asks.

"Umm, sure. It doesn't really hurt," Bella responds absentmindedly.

"Well! That cancels my theory that he hangs out here to see you," Hayley remarks.

"I said you were being stupid," Bella reminds her, still only half listening. Hayley, however, is paying even less attention to Bella than she is to her. "Although," she continues her musing, "how does owning the club fit in with the music business thing."

"There's no reason he can't do both; lots of entertainers own other businesses," Erin answers Hayley then stops, surprised, when Bella suddenly stands. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"I think I should thank him," Bella answers.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **A lot of housekeeping to get through this week. I hope I don't bore you to tears;)  
**

 **1\. I apologize for the delay in updating. I suffered from a migraine for nearly a week and only surfaced over the past weekend. I admit that I rushed to get this out and still have a bit of a fuzzy brain, so be kind if you spot any glaring errors.**

 **2\. A note about this chapter. You already know that this is a work of fiction, but I think it's worth mentioning again that, while I've researched and endeavored to keep the information about the effects of drugs and rehab factual, my knowledge and depiction on the subjects are from a layman's perspective and incomplete. So, please, bear that in mind.**

 **3\. Welcome to those readers who, between postings, have joined us. Thank you to those who've added Unplugged to their favorites list. I'm thrilled and honored by your endorsement, and thank you to any readers responsible for promoting this story.**

 **4\. I'm pleased to announce that the Counsel Series novels with their new covers (and only minor, insignificant editing changes) are now available at most major eBook retailers. If you're interested in viewing the updated versions, please visit my website: www dot shendapaul dot com  
**

 **5\. And last, but by no means least; special and heartfelt thanks to Coppertop. :) :) Yes, you, the one scowling at her screen and muttering curses; you know what you did to deserve this mention.**

 **Take care everyone; until next time.**

 **To my American friends and readers (because I probably won't post again until after your holiday) Happy Thanksgiving!**

 **Shenda x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Seventeen.**

"You're angry. Who are you angry at?"

"Myself. Who else is to blame?"

"You _are_ ultimately responsible; but, Edward, you toured your first album without resorting to drugs or drinking excessively. Something changed after that; what was it?"

"We've been through this!" he snaps and, catching himself, breathes deeply. He reminds himself that the woman before him doesn't deserve his anger. 'She's been infinitely patient,' he thinks when recalling how poorly he'd behaved when they'd met.

Edward had known, of course, that therapy would form an integral part of his rehabilitation, but still, he'd dreaded the thought of a stranger 'poking around in my head,' as he'd called the process. When, during the planning session with his specialist team, Steven Briggs had explained that his assigned therapist, Alex Jenkins, had been away but would return in time for his first session, Edward had felt relieved. 'It will be easier talking to a man about the shit I've done,' he'd rationalized. To say he'd been surprised when an auburn-haired beauty had greeted him at his first therapy appointment would be a gross understatement. For seconds after, he'd been incapable of speech.

"I was expecting Alex Jenkins," he'd eventually said despite her having just stated the name.

"That's me— _Alexis_ Jenkins," she'd smiled at the misunderstanding, but to Edward, feeling blindsided and foolish, it had felt as if she'd been laughing at him. He'd been instantly annoyed. His scowl, the set of his jaw, the same steely glint in his eyes had induced caution in men, and Edward, more specifically, Masen, in a similarly dark mood, had reduced many groupies to quivering, often, sniveling messes. Alex, however, had appeared unaffected.

"Shall we get started?" she'd invited and without waiting for a response had led the way. Edward followed—reluctantly, and, consequently, in that first session, and several after, he, naturally reserved, had been more taciturn than usual. In fact, in those meetings, he'd been deliberately uncooperative. Unruffled, Alexis had persevered and with her soft but determined manner had encouraged him to open up. Despite his initial resistance, Edward began to trust her and revealed details of his early childhood, Elizabeth's death, meeting Carlisle, and his move to Philadelphia.

In the weeks following that breakthrough, they had lengthy discussions about his life with his new family, and meeting Bella. Alex probed him exhaustively about his relationship with Carlisle and his friendship with Bella. He answered questions about his relationship with his father readily and was as forthcoming about his and Bella's childhood. He refused, however, to elaborate on their later relationship. "We dated and then broke up," was all he'd say, no matter how hard Alex pressed.

"Yes, Edward, we've _been through it_ ," she tells him now, "but you and I know there was more to it than the tiredness, boredom, and frustrations of an extended tour—"

"Alex," he interjects. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself, but if you're serious about turning your life around you'll have to admit and then deal with the real reasons you turned to drink and drugs. Let's leave that for now. Why don't you tell me when and why you started sleeping around?"

Irritation and then discomfort passes over Edward's features. Alex, who watches him war with himself, notices almost the exact moment he decides. When he speaks, his voice is filled with pain and regret. "I fucked up the best thing I had since my mother left," he confesses.

"Tell me," she encourages, and Edward, for the first time, talks at length about the events in Dallas and the aftermath.

"I don't think I had more than a couple of beers, and I honestly can't remember what happened after signing autographs," he concludes with the statements he'd repeated several times while recounting the story.

"I believe you," Alex tells him, and Edward, tense throughout his revelations, relaxes. John, Liam, Alec, James; none of them had questioned his story or his lack of memory. For them, such incidents were routine and in the case of James and, to a lesser degree, Alex, expected. Edward hadn't cared about their opinion or wanted their trust. From them, he'd only wanted information. The relief he feels at hearing Alex's words, the lack of judgment in her tone or expression is immense. He hadn't realized, until then, just how much he'd wanted, _needed_ , someone to believe him—believe _in_ him.

"No one remembers seeing anything, anyone spiking your drinks?" Alex asks.

"No," he says and relates what Victoria and the band members had said. John, our tour manager, found me in the dressing room, passed out and alone—wait," Edward stops suddenly. "You think someone _drugged_ me?"

"Well, it seems plausible. You didn't drink much. In fact, you've said you had never, until after Dallas, drank excessively around fans; that you'd avoided drugs. Haven't you considered the possibility?"

"I have, but I couldn't, still can't, imagine who'd want to do that, except for Maggie…but she left with Victoria."

"What about her?"

"Victoria? Why would she? It doesn't make sense. All she ever cared about was record sales. Drugging me wouldn't have helped that."

Alex isn't convinced, and the thought, she can tell, is still rattling around in Edward's head. Despite that, she resolves to revisit that particular subject later. She feels that in opening up about his split with Bella he's made real progress and doesn't want to lose momentum.

"You're probably right, so let's leave it for now. Tell me; before Dallas, had you ever given Bella reason to doubt your commitment to her?"

"Never," Edward answers vehemently. "I had quite a bit of experience with girls in high school, and she witnessed some of that, I'm sure, but when I realized I loved Bella as more than just my best friend that all stopped."

"So, you had a lot of girlfriends before her?" Alex clarifies, and Edward has the good grace to look sheepish.

"Not girlfriends. Bella was my first, my only real one, I suppose. I dated a few women after her, but I didn't consider them girlfriends."

"So you've never been committed to anyone other than Bella?"

"No one" Edward agrees.

"How did you feel when she left you?"

"How do you _think_ I felt? I was gutted!" he responds, snappish and defensive once more.

"Were you angry?"

"Of course."

"At her?"

"No, why would I be? _I_ was the one who fucked up!"

"So you weren't mad at Bella for not giving you a chance to explain?"

"Fuck!" Edward mutters, head back, eyes clenched in frustration.

"Edward?" Alex pushes.

Looking at her, he sighs. "Okay, yes. I know I shouldn't have been, but I was."

"You don't think you had the right to be just a _bit_ angry?"

"Not at Bella, no. I let her down."

"Perhaps; but don't you feel that she also let you down?"

Edward chooses not to respond, but Alex persists. "I think you do. I think you were angry at and disappointed in her. You felt betrayed—"

"Look, Alex; I admit I was mad at Bella for not listening, but I don't blame her. She found me with another woman. She was right not to put up with my shit."

"You've owned up to your shit, as you call it? All of that happened _after_ Bella broke up with you. What did you consciously do wrong in Dallas? You didn't drink too much. You didn't intentionally take drugs; you didn't deliberately have sex with another woman—what exactly did you do wrong?

What, knowing what you do now about that night, would you do differently; what _could_ you have done to avoid being in that position? Isn't that what Bella said; that you put yourself in that position?"

For the first time, in a long while, Edward directs his aggravation at Alex. "Why are you attacking Bella?" he demands.

"I'm not, and I'm not judging her. I don't know Bella or enough about her situation to comment on her actions. I'm _your_ therapist, Edward. I contain my observations to your actions, your thoughts and feelings, and what I'm trying to do is make you see that you're irrationally blaming yourself for what happened in Dallas. Honestly, what could you have done differently?"

"Not drink—"

"Yes; you could have refused alcohol, but you'd just come off stage. You were celebrating a successful concert, and you were, no doubt, hot and thirsty. Why shouldn't you have enjoyed a few drinks? It's feasible, highly probable that someone drugged you. What if you'd had soft drinks instead? Do you think _that_ would have stopped someone from spiking your drink? You said it yourself; you had no reason to mistrust anyone in that dressing room. You did nothing wrong."

"I ended up with another woman!" he stubbornly argues.

"You did, but you didn't plan it. You didn't consciously cheat, and you had never, up to that point, given Bella any reason to doubt your love and commitment. The fact that you didn't drink excessively and can't recall crucial events leads me to believe you were drugged. Just because you don't know who or why doesn't mean it didn't happen, Edward," Alex reasons.

He's silent, and she glances at her watch. "Our time's up, but before you go, I want to leave you with this thought. When your mother died, you were devastated. You felt angry and abandoned—that's a reasonable and expected response from a little boy. In the welfare system, you learned to mistrust and guard yourself. Then, when learning about your father, you hoped things would change, that he would make you feel better. He failed you, Edward.

"Yes, you could have managed some of those confrontations better, especially when you were older. That fact, though, doesn't absolve your father of his responsibilities to make you feel loved and secure. _His_ attitude made you feel like an outsider in your family. Bella, as far as I can tell, is the closest you came to completely trusting anyone after Elizabeth and Lou's deaths. You poured so much love and hope into that relationship, and when she wouldn't listen to you, when she left you, you were deeply hurt. In my view, you sank into a deep depression. You felt abandoned _again_ —"

Edward leans forward, ready to protest, but she stops him. "Hear me out, okay?" Reluctantly, he nods.

"It's natural to have felt, to still feel, that way. Feeling anger toward Bella is understandable, and, knowing you as I do now, I also understand you being mad at and loathing yourself. Getting drunk, staying drunk, and taking drugs were all part of your need to punish yourself for failing to make your Dad love you the way you wanted, for failing to gain Bella's trust. Hating and blaming yourself, getting blind drunk, taking drugs, the indiscriminate sex—they were all ways to cope with and dull your pain, to punish yourself— _and_ her."

Alex raises a perfectly manicured brow, again, silencing his objection. "Just think about what I've said. We'll talk about it some more on Tuesday," she tells him.

Edward leaves with his mind swirling. On Friday, over dinner with another resident, a young actor he'd befriended, he gives monosyllabic responses to questions about his progress. The next morning, he moves almost robotically through his now familiar Saturday routine of an early morning run, followed by a relaxing massage, and then breakfast in his room. He spends the rest of the day and night composing. Throughout all of these activities, at the back of his mind, Alex's assertions filter and start to take hold. On Sunday night, when Alice calls, she notices his preoccupation.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says automatically—the way he'd always responded to Alice's prying—before he remembers that she's no longer that sometimes annoying child or nosy teenager. 'She cares," he reminds himself, and, for the second time in just days, he swallows his pride and pushes his shame aside. He shares the details of his and Bella's breakup. He also shares Alex' theory about him having been drugged but doesn't mention her views on his abandonment issues. He's still coming to grips with those.

"Anyone who truly knows you would never believe you'd deliberately cheat on Bella— _she_ should have known!" Alice responds indignantly.

"She saw me with another woman," Edward reminds her.

"I know she was shocked and upset; I would have been too, and I understand why she didn't say or do anything then—but later, after all the times you begged her to hear your side of the story?" she argues. " _That_ makes me mad!"

"Shrimp, it's not Bella's fault—"

"It's not yours either," Alice counters.

Touched by her passionate defense, Edward swallows the lump in his throat before answering. "Maybe; but all the shit after; that's all on me," he says.

"You're dealing with it, though. You're feeling better, aren't you?" she asks, sounding anxious.

"Yes," he assures her. He doesn't elaborate on how, at times, he still suffers from bouts of fatigue and depression. "It happens and, sometimes, can last for months," Briggs had informed him. Overall, nearly three weeks into his program, Edward's health, both physical and mental, has improved vastly. Each day, he feels more optimistic, but he realizes that there's still a long road ahead of him and that it will, most probably, be an ongoing battle.

"Good! I'll visit when you leave… or you could come here," Alice suggests excitedly.

"We'll see," Edward answers, not yet ready to reveal his plans. The siblings talk for half an hour before he reminds Alice that it's late in Philadelphia and that she has class in the morning. Hungry despite having eaten dinner only hours earlier—another symptom of withdrawal he'd learned—he orders a club sandwich. While eating, he mulls over his session with Alex and later, unable to sleep, continues to ponder.

Edward spends much of Monday in reflection. On Tuesday when next they meet, he voices his thoughts. "You were right," he tells her.

"I usually am." She smiles, her voice, in just that moment, teasing. "What am I right about?" she asks, serious once more.

"Why I drank and took drugs," Edward admits and, at her silent encouragement, continues. "I was just so lost and angry…desperate to escape. I knew the risks; I just didn't care," he says.

"I'm glad you've realized that. Have you also accepted that, while the way you coped was wrong, your feelings weren't?"

"I'm trying, but it's hard."

"You've carried guilt and blame for nearly two decades. You can't expect to change those feelings overnight, but you _have_ to keep working at it, Edward, otherwise you'll regress." They spend the rest of the session exploring his feelings, and Edward, despite his discomfort when talking about certain things, continues to be honest and open.

When Alex announces time's up, he reveals his plans. "I've extended my stay," he informs her.

"Tell me why," she invites.

"I'm not ready to leave," Edward confesses.

"Because of your cravings? Have you discussed it with Steve?"

"I feel tired sometimes and anxious," he admits, "but I don't crave Dexedrine constantly like I used to. Steve's happy with my progress; I just—" he breaks off, distinctly uncomfortable. As she always does, Alex waits patiently.

"Talking to you helps," Edward eventually says. He refrains from adding that she's the first person, since Bella, he's bared his soul to. Even with Alice, who he continues to grow closer to each day, he hasn't shared his innermost thoughts and feelings—she is, after all, his baby sister.

"I'm glad," Alex says and, it seems, catches herself before continuing. "How much longer?"

"Two weeks," Edward answers. "I'll have a weekend break at the end of this program to spend time with Alice before I return."

"That's good. I'll arrange our sessions with Gwen."

"Thanks; and for everything you've done so far," he says and stands, ready to leave.

"It's been a pleasure, Edward. I'll see you on Thursday," Alex tells him.

. . . . .

Bella stops, her determination wavering as she nears Jasper, who's sitting with two other people. She's just about to turn back when he spots her.

"Miss Swan? Everything okay?" he asks solicitously.

"Umm…yes; I just—" she hesitates, glancing nervously first at the blonde —'the ubiquitous blonde,' she thinks uncharitably—and then at the dark-haired man. The woman looks irritated by the intrusion, whereas the man seems merely curious.

"Excuse me," Jasper addresses the pair and stands to meet Bella.

"Would you like to sit?" he invites, pointing out an unoccupied table.

"Thanks," she returns.

"A drink?" he offers, pulling out the nearest chair for her. Bella declines as she takes the seat. He settles across from her, hands loosely clasped on the table and waits with one of those teasing smiles that Bella finds so disconcerting.

"Do I amuse you?" she demands.

"Not at all. What makes you think that?" he counters, smiling wider.

Irritated, she huffs. "I wanted to apologize for being rude before and thank you for getting rid of that guy."

"My pleasure. We don't like our patrons, especially women, to feel unsafe on or around our premises." Jasper leans forward. "So, you admit you were rude?" he asks, teasing once more.

"I'm not usually," Bella flushes with embarrassment.

"So, only with me? Why's that?" He smiles again—much too cockily in her opinion.

"You're just...it's doesn't matter. I should let you get back to your friends. Thanks again," she says and, before he can respond, leaves.

"What did he say?" Erin asks when she returns.

"Nothing much," Bella tells her.

"Did you check if he _really_ owns this place, and what about the music business?" Hayley demands.

"I didn't interrogate the man, Hayley. I went there to thank him and apologize for before, and that's what I did."

Hayley prepares to argue, but Bella shoots her a warning glare, and thinking better of it, she drops the subject. Over the next month, whenever they visit the club, Jasper's there and, as always it seems, with a woman in tow. On each occasion, despite his companion and even when the pub's crowded, he acknowledges them, his glance lingering on Bella. One evening, when Erin and Hayley leave to visit the ladies and replenish drinks he approaches. Motioning to the vacant seat across from her, he seeks permission to sit. Bella inclines her head.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Fine," she tells him.

"I feel I should apologize too," he breaks the short, awkward silence.

"What for?"

"For unintentionally annoying you," he tells her, his blue eyes sincere.

"Apology accepted," she says, resisting the urge to challenge him about his cockiness. After another moment's silence, she asks, "Do you really own this place?"

"I may have exaggerated," he smiles.

"Oh?" Bella questions.

"I'm _part_ -owner, a silent partner. Music's my passion," he says and then, seeing her slight grimace, asks.

"You don't like music?"

Bella ignores the question. "You're very present and very vocal for a silent partner," she says instead. He laughs, a genuinely amused sound, and, involuntarily, she smiles.

"Pete, my business partner—he gestures toward the dark-haired man—and I only recently acquired the business. I felt I should acquaint myself with its operation," he explains.

"Why a pub? I mean…if music's your passion?" Again, without meaning to, the inflection in Bella's voice when mentioning music changes. Reading her discomfort, Jasper, wisely, doesn't push.

"Pete and I have been friends since college. He already owns a restaurant and wanted to add something with a more casual vibe. When he found this place and asked me, I agreed to become a silent partner. The music side appealed to me. Pubs like this are great venues for finding new talent."

An old, but still familiar, ache tightens Bella's chest. She remembers only too well the role a pub played in Edward's rise to fame. Thankfully, Jasper distracts her with his next question.

"What do you do?" he asks.

"At the moment, not much," Bella confesses.

"What would you _like_ to do, Miss Swan? What's your passion?" he questions, his tone light with just a hint of his former teasing.

"I'm a lawyer," she informs him and, this time, she laughs at his shocked expression. "You find that hard to believe?" she challenges.

"No, no," he responds hurriedly. "I'm just not used to beautiful lawyers," he says, verging on flirtatious. Bella purses her lips. "Don't you like compliments?" he asks.

"Only when they're genuine."

"You doubt my sincerity? You pain me, Miss Swan!" he jokes

"I question your motives," Bella answers somewhat acerbically. Jasper, however, senses she's more than merely irritated by his teasing. 'She's been hurt,' he decides. Not wishing to upset her or jeopardize getting to know her, he changes the subject. "So, tell me about being a lawyer. What kind of law do you practice?" he asks.

"Right now, not any kind."

"Why's that?"

"I only recently graduated, and I'm still looking, hoping to find the right job."

"And what would that be?"

Bella's reluctant to respond, but then, seeing what she feels is genuine interest, explains how, because of her dad's influence, she'd always been interested in corporate law. She reveals what she envisions her ideal job would be like, then describes her experience at DH&B, the parts she'd loved and those she hadn't. "I didn't find it personal enough. Since then, I've done a lot of research and thought about it a lot. I've decided that, legally, corporations are over-represented, whereas the individuals they contractually and financially bind to them aren't. I'd like to act for those people," she concludes.

Jasper had listened, intrigued and impressed by her passion for the law and her desire to protect the uninitiated from 'signing their lives and livelihoods away' as she'd described it. In the brief silence that follows Bella's explanation, she berates herself, wishing she hadn't been so open.

"Send me your CV. I may—" Jasper finally speaks, but her friends interrupt them.

"I should go," he announces.

"Do you _have_ to?" Hayley protests.

"Afraid so," he addresses Bella. "Miss Swan, I enjoyed chatting. We should continue our conversation soon," he tells her.

" _Bella_ ," she corrects him. "I liked talking to you too," she adds, neither accepting nor declining his invitation to further their discussion.

"I'm glad," he returns and then, after wishing them a pleasant evening, walks away.

"Well!" Erin exclaims as soon as he's out of earshot.

"Well what?" Bella, not liking her friend's tone, challenges.

"You looked cozy," Hayley cuts in, sounding peeved.

"I was being polite," Bella asserts. "Besides, didn't you want to know if he owns the pub?" she asks, watching with amusement as both her friends' eyes spark with anticipation.

"He and a friend own it. Jasper's a silent partner," she tells them.

"So he is in the music business," Hayley remarks gleefully.

"Apparently. Why do you care so much?" Bella asks, watching her friend speculatively.

"I'm just curious, that's all," Haley counters. "Are you going to see him? _Go out_ with him?"

"No! I already told you," Bella says, her voice warning. Hayley and Erin take the hint and for the rest of their stay, don't mention Jasper.

Just as they're about to leave the pub, he surprises them by appearing. "Bella, do you have a minute?" he asks.

"Umm, sure," she says and follows him. They stop a short distance from her overly curious friends.

"I'd really like to see your CV," he tells her. Bella's about to protest, but he stops her.

"I promise you, my interest in your ability as a lawyer is genuine," he assures her. "As I started saying before your friends' arrival, I have an opening in my organization that could suit your requirements."

"In the music business?" she asks, her voice and expression communicating distaste.

"Yes," he confirms.

"I'm not interested," Bella says.

"Why?" he questions.

"I'm just not," she answers. "Thank you, though."

"Wouldn't you at least like to know more about what I'm considering?"

"I don't think it would matter," she tells him.

"Look, Bella. You obviously have an issue with the music industry—I'm not prying," he hastily adds when she turns to leave. "This isn't the time or the place to discuss this. Besides," he lightens his tone. "I'm not even sure if _you'd_ meet Sigel's needs. Why don't you send me your CV?" he suggests again as he withdraws his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He produces a business care and offers it to her. "Email it to me. In return, I'll forward the job description. That way, we can both consider it—for a week," he suggests. "If we think there's potential, we'll meet to discuss the possibilities.

"I know you mistrust me. Research my company, and I'm happy to provide any additional information you need to convince you," he says seeing her skepticism.

"Are you interested in me…personally?" Bella asks, mentally cursing her body for betraying her discomfort by blushing.

"Bella, I'm a red-blooded male, and you're a stunning woman. Of _course_ , I'm interested, but I'm also an astute and, I believe most people who deal with me would agree, honest businessman. My offer to discuss a position in my company is purely professional." Without breaking her gaze, he offers the card again.

Bella sees only sincerity staring back at her, so she takes it. "I'll think about it," she tells him and with that, returns to her waiting friends.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **This chapter's late. I'm sorry, but the silly season has well and truly arrived at my place. Pre-Christmas invitations have rolled in, and between those, I've been racing around shopping and getting the house and garden ready for the festive onslaught. I'm sure you're all familiar with the drill.**

 **I've managed to snatch odd moments during the day to write but have, mostly, stayed up until the wee hours to get this to you. I apologize in advance for any errors I've missed.**

 **For those who've asked, we're about two chapters(ish) away from Edward and Bella meeting again**

 **As always, thank you to new readers and those who've honored me by adding Unplugged to their story favorites, or me to their favorite writers' list. A special, heartfelt thank you to those loyal readers who've been with me since Counsel and who've stuck with this story.**

 **Until next time, stay safe and take care.**

 **Shenda x**


	20. Chapter 20

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Eighteen**

Two days before Edward leaves The Sanctuary to spend time with Alice, Victoria emails him. _Where are you; I've been calling for days? Aro wants to discuss your contract tomorrow_ , her message reads.

 _Can't make it_ , he replies.

 _Why not_? She returns instantly.

Edward is sorely tempted to ignore Victoria's emails the way he'd dismissed her phone calls over the past week. It's not the first time he's disregarded her. He'd mastered the art, especially after their rancorous hotel room altercation, and then, with the expiration of his contract with Arrius, she'd become an adjunct rather than an essential part of his business life. He'd hardly ever thought about Victoria after that. However, since Alex planted the seed, the possibility that she drugged him has preyed on Edward's mind. He still struggles with finding a plausible motive. The thought, however, persists, and each time it does he burns with anger. That feeling, along with his decision to avoid work matters while in rehab, resulted in him ignoring her calls. Truthfully? Edward also derived an almost perverse pleasure from listening to her increasingly irate messages.

Although he'd succeeded in forgetting about work, he had, intermittently, thought about his stalled contract. Aro's demand for a meeting brings the matter to the forefront of his mind. Reluctant to make another hasty decision, Edward decides that it, along with Aro, can wait. _I'm not available_ , he answers Victoria, and then, shutting his laptop with a snap, leaves for his appointment with Steve Briggs.

"You're doing well," Briggs observes after performing his routine tests. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Edward tells him because he does, remarkably so, given the circumstances.

"Still having cravings? What about insomnia?"

"I'm sleeping better, and the cravings are still there but in the background. Nothing I can't handle."

"It's natural to still experience them at this stage, Edward. What do you do when you feel that way?"

"Play my guitar, go for a run—that usually helps, but, honestly, just reading can take my mind off it now."

"That's great. You do, realize though, that your current environment plays a large part in you coping. Here, you're not stressed, and there's nothing to tempt you. The real test will come when you return to your everyday life. You won't always be able to pick up your guitar or exercise. You need to develop sound strategies for then," Briggs warns.

"Alex and I are working on those," Edward informs him.

"How are your sessions going?" the doctor prompts.

"Great," Edward answers enthusiastically. "She's been amazing."

"I'm glad; I thought you two would hit it off," Briggs says. He smiles. "You know, lots of male patients develop a crush on her."

"I'm sure they do." Edward returns and, even under Briggs' questioning gaze, gives nothing away. Of _course_ , he finds Alex attractive. What red-blooded male wouldn't, especially someone, who, for over a month, has relied on his own hand for sexual release? Edward has enough experience with women to know that the attraction is mutual, and, in a different situation, he would probably have acted on it. The thought _had_ crossed his mind more than once; and, because he admires and respects Alex, he had even, on occasion, contemplated the possibility of one day dating her. Each time he'd entertained either of those thoughts, he'd dismissed them out of hand. Theirs, he'd rationalize, is a professional relationship. 'Besides,' he'd invariably and sharply reprimand himself, 'knowing about my sexual exploits since Bella, she wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole.'

"Do you have another session before you leave?" Briggs asks.

"Yes, later today and again tomorrow," Edward responds.

"Excellent! Well, that's it then, until next week. If you need to, you can call me over the weekend—at any time," Briggs adds.

"Thanks. I appreciate that," Edward says as they shake hands.

That afternoon, while discussing coping methods with Alex, she asks; "How often do you see James?"

"Now? Maybe once or twice a week; when touring, it was constant."

"Is it fair to say that, outside of his music ability, you don't even like or respect James that much?"

Edward contemplates her for a long moment. When he speaks, he sounds resigned. "You're right," he says.

"Then why do you spend so much discretionary time with him? Did you before your split with Bella?"

"No," Edward admits.

"You know where I'm leading with this, don't you?" she asks.

"Yes," he says.

"Edward, being with James and Alec, even Liam, when not necessary is just another destructive habit. You already know that, don't you?"

"Yes," he agrees again, frustrated—not with her but himself.

"I've thought about it a lot while here…well, to be honest, since I woke in that hospital," Edward tells her. "Yes, my past and losing Bella caused a lot of my problems, but things worsened while making my third album. I was pushed to create and perform music I hated. Frustration; the pressure to make a success of that fuck up, along with everything else just pulled me down. I'm not making excuses; I'm just admitting something else I've been denying."

"What can you do about it? What do you _want_ to do about it?" Alex asks.

"Negotiations on renewing my contract have stalled. Differences of opinion about the last album's results," Edward explains at her questioning look.

"Do you want to renew?"

"I'm not sure; I don't think so," he answers. "The fact that they refused to seriously consider my views, especially after my other albums' success, really soured things for me.

"I feel betrayed," he confesses after a moment. "Fuck!" he exclaims at the realization.

"What?" Alex probes.

"What the hell is wrong with me? Am I just adopting a victim mentality?"

"No, you're not!" Alex responds decisively. "Edward, I've listened to many, many celebrities who've been burned—by studios, production houses, managers, husbands, wives… friends. Some were veterans in their industry. You can't blame yourself. You were naive, trusting, and ignorant about the machinations of the music business. Learn from your experiences; don't make the same mistakes again."

"Do you have anyone you can discuss your contract with? A lawyer, trusted friends—someone in the industry?" she asks in the brief, ensuing silence.

Edward tells her about Drew then. "Do you think he deliberately misled you?"

"No," Edward says immediately. "Contracts weren't his specialty; he was honest about that. He did his best, though. He made good suggestions and successfully negotiated those conditions. Prematurely signing the contract was my fault. I didn't want to lose the chance, so I rushed through the process." He doesn't reveal that Victoria had practically pushed him into signing. He wonders, seriously, if she'd planned it that way.

"Will you talk to Drew?" Alex asks.

"Only to get his opinion, not to act for me."

"Anyone else?"

"Alice, Jason, my sound engineer…maybe Chez," Edward answers.

"I'm glad you're learning to rely on others—that you've realized you're not alone, that you still have people you can trust and rely on. What would benefit you most, though, Edward, is believing in yourself. You need to realize that with or without your father's approval, with or without Bella by your side, you're enough. If you don't accept that, you'll never feel whole again."

"Thank you," he tells her, his voice quiet, thick with emotion.

 **. . . . .**

At midday on Friday, Edward checks out of The Sanctuary, reminding the receptionist that he'll return on Monday, late afternoon. Outside, a smiling Chez meets him. "Lookin' good, like yo' old self," he greets Edward as they exchange a man-hug.

"Getting there," Edward responds and then, after dropping his bag and guitar case in the back of the limo, settles into the front passenger seat. On the hour-long drive, he answers questions about his recovery.

"So, you writin' again," Chez says, satisfaction and pride evident when learning how Edward spent his downtime. "Good shit?" he asks.

"Good shit," Edward confirms, smiling.

"Thank the Lord! That last album— hated it," Chez remarks, and Edward laughs out loud, in amusement and relief because it's the first time since its release that he's felt anything but bitter at the thought or mention of it. That comment naturally leads to a discussion about the circumstances surrounding the making of the album and whether to stay with Arrius or not.

"You know I respect Aro, but that stuff that went down…that ain't cool. Any studio'd be lucky t' have you," Chez tells him. Edward thanks him and then falls silent, staring out at the passing scenery for the rest of the drive, pondering. Outside his apartment, he thanks his friend again. "Later," Chez responds, clapping Edward's shoulder affectionately.

Inside, after dropping his bag in the bedroom and his guitar in the studio, he wanders into the kitchen. Opening the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water, he grins. 'Daphne,' he thinks, remembering their third-party exchanges while texting Chez to arrange transport for him from The Sanctuary and Alice from the airport. Despite Edward's assurances about the tidiness of the apartment, Daphne had insisted that she and Jasmine, her friend and Edward's cleaner, 'give it a goin' over.'

 _Best not argue_ , Chez advised, and so Edward hadn't. He guzzled down some water before checking a jar in the bottom cupboard. He smiled again when noticing that Daphne had used some of the cash he stashes there for Jasmine to replenish staples such as cleaning products, milk, juice, and water. "She's learning," he mutters, satisfied.

That evening, with Alice settled in, brother and sister sit at the breakfast bar feasting on Daphne's famous fried chicken—cold just the way he likes it— and potato salad. "Yummm," Alice moans, "who'd have thought this could taste so good, especially cold."

"It's like pizza; it acquires something special when cold. Anyway, who'd ever have thought _you'd_ eat fried chicken?" Edward teases, grabbing another piece—his third.

"I'll do an extra Pilates class," she shrugs. " _So_ good," she hums again when biting into her second piece.

"You'll need more than one extra class; there's more in the fridge," Edward tells her. Alice's eyes light up.

"Does Daphne cook this a lot?"

"Not often; not since Chez had his heart scare. But whenever she does, she brings me some."

"She spoils you."

"I know. She and Chez are great friends," he says, and then, after a moment's hesitation, adds. "I talked with him about my contract with Arrius."

"What about it?" Alice drops her half-eaten chicken onto her plate and gives Edward her full attention. He explains the situation, his discussions with Victoria, Mitch, and later, Aro in the lead-up to the production of his last album. "I've lost trust in them," he concludes.

"I'm not surprised; they forced you into working with James. Why would they do that, especially after the other albums?"

"I don't know. I don't understand, and, honestly, I no longer care. I don't think I want to renew with them."

"You'll easily find another label, Edward."

"Chez said that too, and I think you're both right. There are other options, I suppose—like producing and distributing my own music."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Not really—not yet anyway. I enjoy the production side, and I've learned a lot about it, but I know very little about distribution. Besides, that's not something I want to get involved in."

"When will you tell Arrius?" Alice asks.

"When I've finished rehab," he informs her.

"I'm glad you're staying on. You look great!" she tells him, something she's said several times since arriving. Alice had been overjoyed when seeing how well Edward looked—more so when learning about his extended stay at The Sanctuary.

"Thanks, Shrimp." Grateful for her support, he squeezes her hand.

"How soon do you need to sign with another studio?" Alice asks.

"I want to release another album as soon as possible to erase the last disaster. I don't want to rush into anything, though."

"You still need to write the songs, don't you?"

"I've already made a good start."

" _Really_?"

"Really," Edward confirms, amused by her excitement.

"When…how many have you written?"

"That I think's good enough? Four or five, in the last month."

"Wow! So, at The Sanctuary?"

"Yes," he confirms. "After detox."

"Can I hear them?"

"Sure," he says. "Maybe later or tomorrow."

"Tonight; I can't wait that long," Alice decides, and later, in Edward's studio, she listens, in awe of her brother's talent. During one song, her throat tightens, and her eyes burn with unshed tears. While Unapologetically Me had been angry and rebellious, and Beautiful Home, filled with reverence, wonder and unbridled love, this particular song, Lost, is red-raw with pain and disillusionment.

When Edward sets his Martin aside, Alice leaps forward, practically choking him in her embrace. "That was _beautiful_ ," she sobs.

Edward wraps his arms around her. "Thanks," he mumbles into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

A week after returning to The Sanctuary, having ignored at least a dozen more emails and phone messages from Victoria, Edward acts. He emails a formal letter, addressed to Mitch Walker, Vice-President Artists and Repertoire. In it, he advises that he would not be entering into a new contract with Arrius.

 **. . . . .**

For long seconds Bella hesitates, her finger hovering over the keyboard. Finally, taking a deep breath, she hits send. It's been weeks, three exactly, since Jasper had practically challenged her to forward her CV. In that time, she'd felt torn between her aversion to the music industry and curiosity about his potential job offer.

She had, as he'd suggested, researched Sigel Records, a comparatively small, but, apparently, highly successful and sought-after record label. She'd been grudgingly impressed by reports of its success, every one attributing the company's extraordinary results to its founder and owner. Jasper Whitlock, thirty-four, with an MBA from The University of Texas, Austin, started his career managing and promoting musicians. At twenty-eight, frustrated by record companies' stranglehold on his clients' careers, he'd established his own label.

Both Whitlock and Sigel, industry sources claim, have gained formidable reputations. Many compare him and his company's rapid rate and level of success in recent times to that of Aro Larsen and Arrius. Unlike Larsen, however, Whitlock has deliberately limited the number of artists on Sigel's books. 'Whitlock has, from the outset, said he wanted to establish a sought-after boutique-style company; one with a small to medium stable of successful, innovative artists who consider themselves part of a family. And he has. Sigel has a comparatively modest number of musicians, yet boasts a disproportionate number of RIAA, Grammy, and Billboard winners. Many of those artists have been wooed but refused offers from larger labels, one publication claimed.

Jasper's comment, particularly about family resonated with Bella and, in the end, those words convinced her to email him. Two days later, he answers. _Bella, thank you for considering Sigel_ —no mention of himself, she notes, unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. _You have a commendable CV. Your academic results, especially, are impressive, and Mr. Brown from DB &H praised your legal and negotiating skills. I hope you don't mind that I called him. You did include a list of referees, and I did mention that I was an astute businessman_, he'd written. Bella huffs, knowing that if he'd said the words, he would have delivered them in that slightly mocking tone, which she's now convinced, he reserves exclusively for her. _The job description is attached. If you're interested, email or call me. Jasper._

Bella opens the attachment, excitement growing with every sentence she reads. The job sounds fantastic, but still, working in the industry bothers her. She wishes she could talk to someone. She instantly dismisses Erin and Haley, not trusting them to be unbiased. 'Not about _this_ ,' she reasons. The fact that she can't rely on her best friends leaves her despondent, and, for the first time in ages, Bella allows herself to think about Edward, the person she'd believed would always be her best friend. He'd understood her like no one else, known how she felt even when she'd been incapable of or lacked the courage to voice her emotions. Even her parents, who love her dearly and who know her well, don't understand every part of her the way Edward had. She'd bared her soul to him and trusted him implicitly. Her heart wrenches when remembering how he'd destroyed that trust.

The next morning, over breakfast, Renee, notices her preoccupation. "Sweetie, what's bothering you?" she asks.

"Nothing," Bella says but thinks better of it. "There's this job offer…well, potential offer," she starts and relays the story about meeting Jasper, their subsequent discussion, and his email.

"You met this man in a pub—how do you know he's who he says he is?" Charlie demands.

"Dad, I'm not stupid. I researched his company."

"Give me his details; I'll have someone check him out."

"Charlie," Renee intervenes. "You're overreacting."

"It's okay, Mom," Bella answers before he can. "Google him, Dad but, please, _no_ investigators," she warns, knowing just how far her father would go if unchecked.

"Fine," Charlie huffs, seemingly appeased by Bella's ready compliance. "I have a meeting," he says, standing. He kisses Renee on the lips and then Bella's cheek before leaving the room.

"What's he like? Jasper Whitlock," Renee asks as soon as Charlie's footsteps fade.

"Arrogant, I first thought; still is, to a degree—but it goes with the industry, I suppose," she replies.

"Not _everyone_ ," Renee counters, scrutinizing her daughter, noting the flash of pain in her eyes, the way she braces herself at even the vaguest mention of Edward. She waits, hoping for some revelation about their breakup; a clue that would shed light on how to help her daughter heal, but Bella ignores the comment.

"I'll grab my laptop. You can find out about Jasper yourself while I clear up. See what he looks like because I know you're dying to ask!" she says instead and leaves the room.

"Read the job description too; tell me what you think," she calls out over her shoulder. Renee sighs, disappointed again but, when Bella returns, is soon distracted, excited by what she reads. To her, given Bella's desire for more personal interactions with clients, the job seems perfect, and from what she can tell, Jasper Whitlock is respected and admired in the industry. 'Perhaps working there will help her,' Renee decides.

Over the next week, Bella and her parents discuss the offer at length. Charlie, meanwhile, exhausts every avenue to obtain information on Jasper. Finding nothing suspicious about his business dealings, he instructs a staff member to investigate both Sigel and Jasper's financial status. He eases his conscience with the thought that he'd used the resources at hand, a private investigator.

Jasper Whitlock, he concludes after reading the assessment, deserves his business reputation. Charlie, however, worries about the number of different women the man's been photographed with. He, like Renee, doesn't know what transpired between Bella and Edward, but he worries about his daughter being hurt again, and something tells him that Whitlock, like Edward, has the potential to do that.

He contacts a colleague in Austin. The man, well connected, as Charlie had hoped, confirms that he has links into The University of Texas. Through him, Charlie discovers something new. Whitlock, it seems, had been married while in college. He and his wife, a fellow student from a wealthy Texan family, divorced a year after their marriage. The girl's parents had hushed the matter up but, according to Charlie's associate's associate, they blamed Jasper for whatever happened. He left Texas after graduating, a condition, apparently, set by his ex-father-in-law.

"Did you know Whitlock was married?" Charlie asks Bella over dinner that night.

"Was or is?" she asks, and, despite his concern, Charlie smiles, proud of his daughter's sharp mind.

"Was," he admits.

"So?" Bella challenges.

"Bella, have you seen all the women he's dated?"

"What difference does _that_ make?" she demands, her stubborn streak denying that she had, herself, expressed scathing views on Jasper's female companions. "He's offering me a job, not dating me!"

"I don't trust him," Charlie responds.

"Bella's an adult, and she has good judgment," Renee reasons.

"Fine," he half-heartedly concedes. "Just be careful."

"I will, Dad," Bella promises both him and herself.

On Tuesday, the following week, she and Jasper meet at a Center City coffee shop. "I hope this wasn't inconvenient? I would've asked you to choose a place, but I had a meeting at work," he explains while they wait for their drinks—an iced latte for her and an Americano for him.

"It's fine," Bella assures him. "Are your offices nearby?" she then asks.

"About ten minutes away in Market Street."

"Why didn't we meet there?" she asks.

" I didn't think you were ready. Was I wrong?" he returns.

"Maybe; but I have questions."

"Ask; I said I'd answer," Jasper responds just as a server arrives with their drinks. Bella waits until she leaves and takes a sip of hers before speaking.

"Who will I be reporting to?"

"Karen Bateman, head of our legal department. She leaves in five or six months, though. We haven't decided yet whether or not to replace her."

"Why's she leaving?" Bella asks.

"She's pregnant, only just," he says, looking pleased.

"Why not replace her?"

"She doesn't know if she wants to return to work after the baby. I'm holding her job open until she decides."

"Are you always so generous?" Bella asks.

Jasper laughs. "I'm being _practical_ , Bella—astute remember? Karen's been with me from the start, and she's extremely valuable to the company and deserves consideration."

She nods, encouraged by this piece of information. "What happens when she leaves to have the baby?"

"She has two lawyers working for her, both are capable of handling the day-to-day stuff. In Karen's absence, you or someone else will help to pick up the slack."

"You only have three in your legal team?" she asks, surprised.

"Employed, five—three here, including Karen, and two in our London office. We engage large firms when necessary," Jasper explains and then, at her questioning look, elaborates.

"Hiring lots of lawyers sends the wrong message, to our artists and employees especially. Contracts are crucial to any business where parties interact, but in record companies, they often overshadow the core business. I've lost count of how many times, in the past, I've attended a meeting expecting to meet with my client and two or three execs, only to be confronted by half a dozen lawyers. Artists, especially new ones, are often intimidated in situations like that. I started Sigel to even the playing field; I intend to keep it that way."

"That's reassuring," Bella admits.

"You expressed those views, Bella. _That's_ why I think you and Sigel are a good fit," he tells her, and, again, she nods. For nearly an hour, she asks question after question, which Jasper readily answers. Not once does he show impatience or boredom; and, significantly for Bella, not once does his arrogant streak or teasing leak into their conversation.

"Finally, satisfied, she asks. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No," he answers. "At this stage, I know all I need to. If you're still interested, I think you should meet Karen. She understands the job better and will, no doubt, have plenty."

"If you don't mind, I'd like a couple of days to consider," she answers.

"Fine. Call when you're ready, and if you want to proceed, I'll set up a meeting with Karen." Jasper stands, and she does too.

"Are you okay to get home?" he asks, ushering her out.

"Yes, thanks. I parked just around the corner."

Outside, on the sidewalk, he offers his hand. "I look forward to hearing from you, Bella."

"I'll call soon," she promises and places her hand in his.

Three days later, having discussed the meeting with her parents, and having thought long and hard, Bella calls Jasper. "I'd like to meet Karen," she tells him.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Thank you to those who have, since the last chapter, chosen to follow and favorite Unplugged or me. Welcome new readers :)  
**

 **To my friends and readers who celebrate; Merry Christmas! To _everyone_ whether you celebrate the festive season or not: I wish you smiles wherever you look, and peace and joy wherever you go—now and always.**

 **Keep well and stay safe. Until next time.**

 **Shenda x**


	21. Chapter 21

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Nineteen**

"This is all a bit drastic, don't you think?" Mitch asks, his voice echoing Edward's growing impatience. Exhaling a calming breath, he responds.

"Not to me. Look, Mitch, we've discussed this over the phone and tossed the same argument around for half an hour now. I haven't said anything new, and nothing you've said has changed my mind."

"I've agreed you don't need to collaborate with anyone again, not unless you want it," Mitch counters.

"That's what I wanted in the first place, and you didn't listen."

"Okay, I admit that maybe Victoria was a bit gung-ho." Mitch adopts a conciliatory tone. "I'll assign you another A&R exec— "

"Victoria?" Edward scoffs. "Victoria works for _you_! You could've overruled her. Instead, you dismissed my views; you ignored my two successful albums. _You_ convinced Aro."

"Masen, sometimes, labels and artists need to take risks."

"Labels _and_ artists?" Edward bristles with anger. " _No one_ at Arrius accepted responsibility—not Victoria, not you; not even Aro. You all blamed me. _I_ faced the media and fans without public support from my _label_? _I_ signed up to tour for half a year to salvage something of the mess you pushed me into. _My_ reputation and _my_ songs filled those venues, no one else's!" He breathes hard, struggling to maintain his temper. Mitch protests, but Edward cuts him off, his tone determined.

"It's too late, Mitch. Nothing you say or do will change my mind. I've lost faith in you and Aro—and I sure as hell don't trust Victoria!" He's itching to mention her manipulative ways; more specifically, he wants to voice his suspicions about Dallas, but, unfounded as they still are, Edward clamps his mouth shut. Instead, he draws another calming breath. "My lawyer will deal with any loose ends," he says and, without waiting for Mitch's response, leaves.

Unlocking his car, his phone rings. "How'd it go?" Alice asks without preamble.

"As predicted," Edward tells her. "I'm just leaving; can I call you from home?"

"I have class. You okay?" she asks worriedly.

"Pissed off but fine," he assures her.

"Sure?"

"Positive, Shrimp. Now get to class; I'll call this evening."

At home, Edward raids the fridge for a bottle of water, then, clutching it and his phone, wanders onto the terrace where he lounges in a chair to contemplate his next course of action. He's positive that if they don't already know, Eclipse will soon learn that he's quit Arrius. Edward feels he owes them an explanation—even James because he doesn't blame him for the album debacle. And, if he doesn't blame Liam for offering him drugs, then he can't, in fairness, blame James for his other excesses. He accepts full responsibility for his weaknesses and stupidity. Deciding not to let the grass grow under his feet, Edward phones Liam, the most reliable of the three. The call goes to message bank.

"Hey, call me," he says and hangs up.

Next, he phones Jason, who greets him warmly. "Mase! You sure as shit stirred things up around here," he says.

"Yeah, well, I didn't have a choice. Are you free to meet sometime soon?"

"Irv's at two?" Jason suggests, and Edward immediately agrees. He arrives first and sits at the same table he did on his first visit, the one he's favored ever since. Jason turns up and, after they've ordered, looks up at Edward.

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you," he remarks. Edward cringes at the vague memory of how out of it he'd been when he'd run into Jason and some friends at a nightclub.

"Yeah; I was messed up, but I've sorted myself out," he admits and tells Jason, the first person other than Alice he's trusted with the knowledge, about his rehab.

"That's great! How're you coping?" Jason asks.

"It's a challenge, but I'm good."

"So rehab; is that why you left Arrius?"

"No," Edward answers emphatically before explaining the facts surrounding the production of that last album. "You saw what happened in the studio. It was a fucked up idea."

"I wondered why the hell you agreed to write with James. I understand you quitting; I would've done the same," Jason informs him. "What are your plans?" he then asks.

"Release another album," Edward tells him.

"Are you writing?" Jason asks.

Edward nods and relates how, after detox, the desire returned.

"Can I hear it?" Jason asks eagerly.

"Sure, whenever; I value your input," Edward says and invites Jason to his home.

"I'm booked for the rest of the week. How about Sunday evening? I should finish early enough."

"Text me when you know," Edward confirms. Talk then turns to possible labels, and Edward mentions a tentative shortlist.

"Have you heard of Sigel?" Jason asks and, without waiting for an answer, continues. "I know the guy who owns it. I think you and he would be a good fit." Seeing Edward's interest, he pulls out his wallet and shuffles through some business cards. "Here," he says. "If you're interested, contact him. Mention me."

Edward accepts the card, which reads, _Jasper Whitlock, CEO Sigel Records._

"Keep it," Jason tells him. Ten minutes later, they leave, returning to their separate studios to work.

That evening, after telling Alice about his meetings with Mitch and Jason, she asks, "So, this company's in Philadelphia?"

"Yes," he answers.

"You could come home," she says.

"I don't know, Alice. LA's the center of the music business."

"But you don't have to live there, do you?"

"No," he says non-committedly, reluctant to reveal that he had already, even before Jason mentioned Sigel, contemplated leaving LA. The truth, he'd acknowledged when checking out of The Sanctuary, is that Los Angeles no longer feels like home, that it had _never_ felt like home; that other than Chez and Daphne, and possibly Jason, there's no one in that city that he'd genuinely miss. When leaving Philadelphia, Edward had considered his move to LA transitional, essential to establish his career. He'd planned on making Philly his home base, returning to the west coast only when necessary. Now, Edward wants to be closer to Alice, even Esme, but, with Bella no longer part of his life, he's not sure Philadelphia's the right place to be—not yet.

"Come home," Alice pleads.

"I can't, at least not yet."

"Why not?" she demands.

"I need to find a label, a lawyer, and a manager."

"What's wrong with the one Jason mentioned?"

"I haven't looked into it yet. Besides, even if I think they're suitable, they may not want me."

"Of course, they will!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Shrimp; we'll see. Anyway, I also have to find a lawyer and a manager. It would be better for my manager, at least, to be in LA, especially if I'm not."

Alice relents with a drawn-out sigh. "When will I see you?" she asks.

"Maybe in a couple of weeks. In New York," he adds, smiling in anticipation of her reaction.

" _Really_?" Alice nearly squeaks in her excitement.

"Really," Edward laughs. "I thought maybe you and Esme would like to join me for a weekend?"

"Yes! When can I tell Mom?"

"I'll let you know. I need to finalize a few things."

"Okay. Can't wait."

"I should go," Edward says as his phone chirps with an incoming call.

"'Kay. Love you," Alice tells him.

"Love you too," Edward reciprocates.

The following night, his meeting with Eclipse turns sour when James, arriving late and without greeting, addresses Edward. "Is it true?" he demands.

"Yes," Edward answers unapologetically.

"What about us?" James asks, including Alec and Liam in a sweeping hand gesture.

"What about you?" Edward counters.

"What the fuck are _we_ supposed to do?"

"Whatever the hell you like. Renew your contract, or move on," Edward returns.

"Easy for someone with two hit albums to say," James sneers.

"Yeah, _my_ albums, _my_ songs." Edward matches James' tone.

Liam, the peacemaker in the group, interjects. "Don't be an asshole," he tells James. "You've bitched about writing and performing your own stuff for years—now's your chance."

"I need a record deal for that!" James answers.

"Well, get one!" Edward challenges.

"Fuck you, Masen!" he spits, and then, turning to his fellow band-members, adds, "Fuck you all," before storming out.

"He'll get over it when he's sober and can think straight," Liam offers.

"I don't give a shit if he does or doesn't," Edward, seething at the exchange, responds. "We all had a chance to advance our music. Even James, fucked up as that last album was, had a chance to prove himself. I enjoyed playing with you, and if you don't renew with Arrius or sign with anyone else, maybe we'll do it again. Right now, though, I'm doing what's right for me."

"We get it, man. We're cool," Alec assures him and then, summoning the waiter, orders a round of drinks. Edward, who'd ordered mineral water before they arrived and stuck to it, stands. "I have to go. See you guys around," he says and, before either Liam or Alec can notice or comment on his abstinence, he wishes them luck and leaves.

On Sunday, he and Jason spend hours in his studio listening to and discussing his new songs. "This is good, damned good. Some of your best," Jason tells him.

"Thanks," Edward says. "Which do you think's good enough and which should I dump?"

"I wouldn't drop any. Why not ask Steve?"

"I don't want to step on Aro's toes."

"Steve's independent. Let _him_ decide and deal with Aro," Jason suggests.

"I'll think about it," Edward concedes. "First, I need to find a label."

"Have you called Whitlock?"

"No. I'm not rushing this decision again, but I have added Sigel to my list," Edward explains. He doesn't add that, despite his eagerness to rewrite his last album's history, he wants to feel more grounded before getting caught up in the whirlwind of another tour.

Jason nods in understanding. "You also mentioned a manager—anyone in mind?"

"No. I'm still tossing up between finding a company or an individual."

"Eva's thinking about leaving. Why not talk to her?"

"To help find a manager?"

"To manage you."

"Marketing's her thing; why would she consider artist management?"

"Eva knows everything about the business. Managing would be a piece of cake."

"I'll think about it, but, again, I don't want to piss anyone at Arrius off," Edward says.

"Why don't I mention it to Eva? If she's interested, she can call you?"

"Sounds good," Edward, already warming to the idea of, 'take no prisoners' Eva, someone he knows and trusts, being his manager, responds enthusiastically.

A week later, she phones. "Jason says you're looking for a manager?" she asks when they've exchanged pleasantries.

"I am," Edward confirms.

"About time. You should've had one from the start," Eva, ever forthright, tells him.

Edward knows she's right but doesn't respond. "Are you serious about leaving Arrius," he asks instead.

"A year ago, I warned Aro that I wanted to make changes in my life—find more flexible work."

"What'd he say?"

"He didn't take me seriously; didn't think I could give up the power. I reminded him that not everyone's a megalomaniac like him," she laughs.

"What about now?" Edward, also amused, asks.

"He believes me. I made sure he does."

"No hard feelings?"

"None," she confirms.

"Any agreements that would stop you from working with me?"

"Nothing," Eva assures him.

"That's great," Edward, relieved, tells her.

"What about you? How'd they react to you leaving?"

"No idea. I didn't stick around long enough after telling Mitch to find out," Edward admits.

"Mitch is a good guy, but he leaves too many decisions to his people. I can tell you, though, that Aro's pissed we lost you."

"None of that matters to me now. I'm grateful for the opportunity with Arrius, but it was time to move on."

"Why _did_ you leave?" Eva asks and, without interrupting, listens to Edward's explanation.

"That's what I thought and, frankly, I don't blame you," Eva assures him. "What're your plans now?" she asks, and Edward obliges, listing his choice of record companies. He listens with interest and growing admiration as Eva shares her knowledge, including an assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of each. He's impressed, particularly, by her detailed understanding of the key players and the power bases within each organization.

"How the hell did you learn all that?" he asks when she's finished.

"People in this business talk, mostly about themselves, so I watch and listen to everyone I meet, big or small. I remember, and I only comment when necessary," she says.

Edward laughs appreciatively. "So, how do you feel about managing musicians?"

"The thought hadn't crossed my mind until Jason mentioned it. Honestly, I'm intrigued, but I wouldn't manage just anyone. You, I'd consider. You've always been professional, even when you were reportedly acting like a dick, you kept your engagements. But, Masen, if we _do_ work together, I won't put up with that shit. I won't babysit a drunk or a junkie. "

He cringes at her accurate description. Embarrassed, he clears his throat. "I _was_ a dick, but, I promise, I've cleaned up my act," he says.

"Yeah?" she asks, clearly skeptical.

"I spent six weeks in rehab, and I'm still seeing a therapist," he confides.

"I'm glad, Masen. You're too talented to toss your career away like that," Eva tells him.

"Thanks," he responds, appreciative of her encouragement. "So, would you consider the job?"

"Let's both think about it and then meet," she suggests. Edward immediately consents. They meet two days later. A week after that, Eva tenders her resignation and formally accepts the role of Edward's manager and agrees to start in three months, after serving her termination period with Arrius. Edward, in the meantime, with Drew's help, researches law firms, and just weeks after signing Eva as his manager, appoints a company specializing in entertainment contracts. Specifically, he selects Patrick Porter, a partner, to represent him.

A month later, he answers a call from an unknown number. "Am I speaking with Masen," a man asks.

"Who am _I_ speaking to?" Edward returns.

"My name's Jasper Whitlock," the caller says.

 **. . . . .**

Bella smiles as she contemplates the room. In the five months, since joining Sigel, she's had plenty of pleasant surprises. This space, The Common, which she first entered on a guided tour after her interview with Karen, had been one of the most pleasurable. She'd admired its airy atmosphere, the abundance of large, potted plants, the drink and snack dispensers, and the manned refreshment bar. She'd been impressed by the many awards, CD covers, and photographs adorning the walls—stars she'd easily recognized, and others she hadn't but wondered about. She'd _loved_ the conversation pits, their comfortable sofas and seeing their occupants, disparate groups of people deep in conversation. Some had chatted animatedly, some subdued but earnestly, and some, humorously. 'How different from the staidness of DB &H,' she'd thought.

But, what had then and still impresses Bella the most is the _idea_ of the place. "Jasper believes that creativity and productivity flourish when everyone in an organization communicates. This space, we call it The Common', was designed to facilitate that," Karen had explained.

"So, you hold meetings here?" she'd asked.

"Some, but The Common's real purpose is to foster an exchange of ideas and avoid the silos that often become entrenched in businesses," Karen had answered. That statement, like Jasper explaining his vision for Sigel, had resonated with Bella.

The next day, she accepted Karen's offer and, less than a week after she'd started, when Renee had, for the umpteenth time, asked, Bella had stated, categorically, that she loves it. "It's stimulating. There's always something new and challenging happening," she'd said.

Bella smiles at the memory. She _does_ love her job, thanks in no small part to Karen Bateman, who Bella has grown to respect not only as her boss but also a mentor. "I was your age and just as inexperienced when I started in the business," she'd confided when Bella expressed concern about her lack of industry knowledge.

"I asked the same question when Jasper offered me a job. Do you know what he said?" Karen asked and, without waiting for an answer, continued. "You know the law, and you understand contracts; _that's_ all that matters for now. You'll learn about the business. Until then, _I_ know, and others who'll work with us know. That's what he said, and that's what I'm telling you now, Bella."

True to her word, Karen took Bella under her wing. Bella's legal colleagues, Harrison and Lia have been equally generous. Harrison, single, in his thirties, with shoulder-length hair, faded jeans and vintage t-shirts—'except when I need to impress or kick ass,' he'd informed Bella—is the most unlawyerlike lawyer she's ever met. Appearances, Bella had soon been reminded, can be deceiving, because Harrison is smart as a tack and, according to Lia, almost as adept as Karen, at 'kicking ass'. Lia, an immaculately groomed, twenty-seven-year-old bubbly blonde, prone to colorful language, also knows her stuff. Despite the contrast in personalities, Bella slotted into Sigel's legal department effortlessly.

So far, she's liked everyone she's met, even the clients, although, Lia had issued a warning. "They're not all sunshine and roses," she'd said. Bella had shrugged. "I don't expect them to be," she'd answered honestly. "Good," Lia had smiled mischievously, "you'll soon learn who the assholes and bitches are."

Bella heeded the warning but refused to be daunted; a few difficult clients weren't going to spoil things for her. With each week, as her knowledge increased, so did her confidence, and, with the widening of her circle of friends to encompass Harrison, Lia, and other colleagues her outlook on life also broadened. Her parents, Renee especially but even Charlie, who still holds reservations about Jasper, have noticed her changed attitude. Renee's excitement boiled over when, for the first time since Edward, Bella attended a rock concert. Even her declaration that it was 'just to check out potential clients,' couldn't diminish Renee's belief that her daughter is healing.

Three months after she'd started work, Bella announced her intention to move out. Her decision sparked a lively family debate, one in which Renee supported her, and Charlie tried to dissuade her. Eventually, as almost always happens when the women in his life teamed up against him, he'd lost the argument. And, as always, Bella softened the blow—this time, promising not to commit to an apartment until he'd checked its location and security. Charlie wanted Bella to buy, not rent, reminding her that she'd soon gain access to her trust fund. She refused, saying, "I'm not ready to buy. I want to do this on my own."

Again, Renee intervened. Later, in their bedroom, she cupped his face. "Charlie," she said, "We struggled when we were young, you especially, working two jobs through college and then to build a successful career. You wanted to give Bella and me the best, and you did—the very best. Honestly, you spoiled her—we both did," she added, stopping his protest, "and I think, perhaps, we over-protected her."

"Why shouldn't we? That's what good parents do!" Charlie, defensive, argued.

"You're right; parents should protect their children, but not from _everything_. Learning that life can be hard is good; it builds resilience. You're an amazing dad, sweetheart, but Bella's grown up. She needs to learn about life—real life," Renee reasoned.

Charlie didn't answer. Instead, he kissed her goodnight. The next morning, he assured Bella that her trust would be there for whenever she decided to access it. He did, however, insist on inspecting any apartment before she signed a lease. Two weeks later, she and Renee found and fell in love with two one-bedroom apartments, the first in a restored art deco building, and the second in a new, state-of-the-art building. Both are located within a ten-minute or less drive from Sigel. "Which do you prefer?" Renee asked.

"I love them both for different reasons," Bella said. In the end, due to the lower rent and a waived application fee, she chose the art deco place. Charlie approved and within a month, she'd settled in, and like her job, she's thriving there and loving it.

Bella's thoughts are interrupted when Karen, now seven months pregnant, Harrison, and Lia arrive for their meeting. They're discussing client assignments during Karen's maternity leave when Jasper joins them. He nods while Karen outlines her plans. "Harrison will assume responsibility for my clients, and Lia will take over most of his. Bella will manage the rest and some of Lia's. I don't expect any problems with existing contracts while I'm away," she informs him. Jasper smiles, approving her measures and in pleasure at her decision to return, part-time, three months after giving birth.

"Hopefully, I can finalize this deal before you leave," he says.

"You have three weeks. Think you can manage it by then?" she challenges.

"Oh, I'll get my bit done; how about you?" Jasper counters just as playfully.

"You do your thing, Jasper, and I'll do mine," she says and then, more seriously, asks, "What's taking you so long anyway? This one playing hard to get?"

"Just being cautious, I think. He's worth the extra effort, though. Signing him would a real coup."

"When do you leave?" Karen asks.

"Tonight," Jasper answers and stands. "Look after my goddaughter," he says, smiling at her hand resting on her belly. He nods at Harrison and smiles at Lia before addressing Bella.

"Congratulations for getting your own clients. You must have really impressed Karen. We'll talk when I get back, okay?" he says. Flustered—by his intense gaze and her boss and colleague's interest—Bella blushes. She hates that she does, hates how transparent it makes her feel.

"Okay," she says, looking away only to catch Lia's eye. "Lucky bitch!" she mouths, grinning as Jasper leaves. Luckily for Bella Harrison speaks before Lia can do or say more.

"Who's Jasper after?" he asks Karen.

"You know I can't say," she answers.

"What's with the secrecy," he complains.

"Jasper never makes premature announcements; he thinks it may jinx things," Karen explains, her voice indicating that the subject is closed.

After their meeting, Lia questions Bella about Jasper. "Nothing's going on," Bella tells her.

"Why not?" Lia demands. "Come on, Bella. Everyone knows Jasper's reputation, but still—"

"He's not _chasing_ me, Lia," Bella cuts her off. "He congratulated me, that's all."

"And promised to _talk_."

Bella rolls her eyes at the innuendo. "You're imagining things," she says.

"Damn right, I do—about Jasper. Don't you?"

Bella denies it but, to her annoyance, blushes again. "I knew it. You think he's hot," Lia gloats.

"Yes, but I'm not interested," she admits, hoping to stop her friend's probing.

"You're crazy. He's possibly the hottest guy I've seen," Lia sighs dreamily. Bella doesn't respond; she doesn't reveal that Jasper's not the hottest man _she_ knows. For a fleeting moment, she wonders what Lia would say about him. She suppresses the thought. Instead, she ends the conversation by asking about Lia's plans for the weekend.

On Friday, three nights later, Bella meets Erin and Hayley at their usual pub. She hasn't seen her friends in ages, so they take turns sharing their news. "How's the apartment?" Erin asks after a while, and Bella describes the perfect rug she'd found for her living room.

"What about work?" Hayley questions, and Bella describes the events of the last two weeks. "You went to a concert with your new friends?" Hayley asks, her voice accusatory.

"Yes, someone from A&R invited Lia, and she asked Harrison and me."

"So, you're really into the music business. Have you forgotten about Masen—the shitty thing he did?" Hayley demands, her voice rising.

"This is different. This is my job."

"Your job isn't about rock concerts; it's dealing with contracts!"

"Hayley—" Erin warns, but Bella stops her.

"Let her finish. I want to hear what she has to say," she says, her voice tight with anger. "Well?" she challenges Hayley.

"Masen was an asshole, a cheating, lying asshole, and, from what I can tell, he still is. And now you're getting sucked in again—"

Until she'd heard her brother being called an asshole, Alice, sitting in the next booth, had been enjoying her evening. She draws in an angry breath, stands, and turns around. She's shocked to see Bella but quickly overcomes the emotion, glaring at her before facing Hayley and Erin.

Alice addresses both. "Who the hell do you think you are, insulting my brother? You don't know him!"

"Shut up!" she tells Hayley, who opens her mouth to speak. She turns on Bella next.

" _You_ know him, though. My brother loved you," Alice stops and takes a ragged breath. When she continues, her voice breaks. "He _loved_ you... the least you could have done was listen."

"Alice, you don't know what happened," Bella mortified at what Alice overheard, protests

"I _do_ know. Do you? _Do_ you, Bella? Until you do, I suggest you and your friends stop judging my brother!" Practically vibrating with anger, Alice turns her back. "Come on, Rob, let's get out of here," she tells her companion.

Bella, stunned by Alice's tirade, watches her walk away. She reaches for her glass, her hand trembling.

"Well, clearly assholism runs in the family." Hayley huffs indignantly as she, too, picks up her drink.

Bella lowers her glass with a thud. She lowers voice to avoid further embarrassment. " _Shut up_!" she snaps. I'm sick of your sniping—about the music business, about Edward."

"Let's not argue," Erin, surprised by Bella's anger, tries to calm the situation.

"Let's not," Bella says, gathering her bag. "Especially about _my_ life. I've never questioned your choices, either of you. I've advised when you've asked, but I have _never_ criticized you, rubbed your noses in your mistakes, or picked at your sores. I don't want to lose your friendship, but I won't put up with any more of that behavior. If you can't support me without being negative, if you can't be happy for me, then I'm sorry, but we can't be friends," she says and storms out.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **Happy belated New Year, everyone! I hope you all had a safe and happy holiday season.**

 **First, I'd like to acknowledge and thank the lovely and supportive ladies at The Lemonade Stand for including Unplugged in this week's recs. I'm delighted and honored to be included among such talented writers.**

 **Welcome and thank you to those readers who've joined us since the last chapter. A special thanks to those loyal who started this journey with me, and to those who have followed and supported me since Counsel—words can't express how much I appreciate you.**

 **Two chapters ago, I estimated that Edward and Bella's reunion would take place in two(ish) chapters. 'Ish', I can now definitively say, happens in the next update. So, for those who may feel anxious, hang in there ;)**

 **Shenda x**


	22. Chapter 22

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty**

In her car, Bella expels a shaky breath. She's angry, still, with her friends—Hayley especially for voicing her unsolicited opinions—and with herself for not stopping it years ago. 'If I had, Alice wouldn't have heard that,' she mentally remonstrates.

She also blames herself for not reacting sooner, or, at least, apologizing, for her friend's indiscretion. 'You stood there, gaping like a fish!' she mutters. The truth is, Alice had shocked Bella into silence, not just by her appearance. The pub is, after all, a popular student hangout, Penn's especially, and Alice, she knows, is studying there. The _level_ of Alice's anger had stunned her most. She'd never seen Edward's sister so incensed, not even when, as a little girl, she'd accused Bella of 'stealing my brother.' That outburst had **been** fleeting, and she and Alice had almost immediately returned to their friendly relationship that had lasted throughout Bella's friendship and relationship with Edward. Things changed after their breakup when, having met by chance in a restaurant, Alice had practically begged her to reunite with him.

"I'm sorry, I can't," Bella said.

"Why not?" Alice demanded.

"You should ask Edward that," Bella had answered. Their relationship had cooled after that. Over the years, as neighbors, they'd see each other arrive and leave home. Sometimes, when out, their paths had crossed, and they'd wave or smile—politely rather than warmly as before. Occasionally, when shopping or lunching with their mothers, they'd met, and when either Renee or Esme had insisted that the other party 'join us,' Bella and Alice had exchanged pleasantries but avoided meaningful conversation. Whenever either of their mothers would, invariably, mention Edward, they'd feigned disinterest.

Tonight, however, Alice's response had been far from polite or disinterested and, in Haley's case, entirely justified in Bella's view. No one, to her knowledge, had so quickly and thoroughly put Haley, in her place. And, although Erin hadn't criticized Edward—this time anyway—Bella felt she'd also deserved the lambasting. The memory of Alice's accusations aimed at her, however, touched a raw nerve. Alice, it seems, blames her, and Bella resents that. 'She wasn't there,' she thinks sourly, but still can't help wondering if, as Alice had inferred, there's more to the story than she'd witnessed.

Over the weekend, despite her best efforts to dismiss it, the thought persists. On Monday, she's thankful for the distraction of work, where, intermittently, she listens, amused, to Harrison and Lia's ongoing debate about which artist Jasper's chasing. Lia names several musicians living in New York.

"Maybe," Harrison concedes and, when Lia smiles smugly, adds. " Of course, it doesn't mean the person actually lives there."

Lia huffs and rattles off the names of two artists currently performing in the city. Next, she calls the promotions department and asks about other performers headlining there. Harrison waits patiently, and when she hangs up, says, "Jasper could just be meeting the person there."

"Screw you, Harrison," Lia responds good-naturedly and tosses a balled up scrap of paper at him, missing by a mile. He laughs uproariously.

On Tuesday, Karen informs Harrison, Lia, and Bella that Jasper's secured his artist. "He'll make the announcement on Friday after they've signed the contracts," she adds, pre-empting any questions about names.

"Do you want me to prepare the paperwork?" Harrison asks hopefully.

"I'll do it," she tells him, and seeing his disgruntled expression, laughs. "You'll find out soon enough, Harrison, but, just so you know, neither you nor Lia guessed right!"

"Damn!" Lia groans. "I wanted to win that hundred bucks from tight ass over there!" she taunts Harrison, making both Karen and Bella laugh.

"Not tight, frugal," he tells her.

"Frugal my ass!" Lia snorts.

"Nothing frugal about your ass, sweetheart," Harrison retaliates, dodging the punch she aims at his bicep.

"Enough, you two!" Karen says, laughing again. "Harrison, the meeting's here at three, and I want you there."

On Wednesday afternoon, when a memo about Jasper's planned announcement and drinks in The Common circulates, anticipation within Sigel mounts, and speculation about the artist's identity abounds. "Is it always like this?" Bella asks after yet another colleague, who'd come fishing for information, leaves.

"It happens at every label, I'm sure," Harrison answers. "But here, because Jasper's so tight-lipped, it's probably worse."

"Yeah," Lia agrees, "This time especially because he's been chasing this person for so long."

By Friday, as the day wears on, the excitement, if at all possible, ramps up. By two forty, when Harrison joins Karen in the conference room, the air is buzzing. Even Bella, who'd tried not to get caught up in the fuss, can't suppress a growing sense of anticipation. Unlike Lia, however, and several others who fabricate reasons to wander through the reception area or gather in The Common, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the person, she stays at her desk, satisfied in the knowledge that Jasper will pass the legal department to reach the conference room.

At three-ten, Lia, breathless, comes bounding back. "Holy Shit! Sex on legs," she announces as she flops into the chair in front of Bella' She grabs a folder and dramatically fans herself.

"Jasper's back, I see," Bella grins.

"Jasper's hot, but, Bella, _this_ guy!" she sighs dreamily. "I'd pass up a week...no, a month with Jasper for a night with him."

"You're exaggerating again," Bella laughs.

"I'm not! Just wait—" Lia breaks off, craning her neck at the sound of approaching voices.

Bella looks up. The breath leaves her body in an audible whoosh, and the blood drains from her face as the world around her stops. Lia's speaking, she can tell, but she can't understand a word as she stares into a face she hasn't seen in seven years—except in her memory or splattered across a myriad of gossip magazine covers.

He's equally shocked; green eyes wide, mouth slack, until the woman at his side touches his arm. He swallows hard, eyes and jaw tightening before composing his face into an impassive mask; and then, without acknowledging Bella, he breaks their gaze. He nods at his companion— 'Eva,' Bella's brain, finally functioning, recalls— a short jerking movement before he and Eva follow Jasper and another male into the conference room, where Karen and Harrison are waiting.

 **. . . . .**

For Edward, the thought of leaving LA took hold when, after mentioning it to Chez, his friend had said, "Do what's right for you. Daphne an' me? We'll always be your friends." Finally, after spending a second weekend with Alice and Esme in New York, he decided to move back to the East Coast. "Why not come home?" Esme had asked when he'd shared the news. "I'll still have to travel to see you," Alice had complained.

Edward hadn't explained his reluctance to live in Philadelphia. Instead, he'd pointed out that he'd be only be an hour's flight or a two-hour drive away. "We'll see each other often," he'd promised, and neither woman had pushed. Alice, knowing the history, had related his decision to Bella, while Esme blamed Carlisle's attitude for keeping their son away. Both, however, had quickly warmed to the idea of him living in New York. Alice suggested SoHo, Tribeca, and Midtown Manhattan, and Esme, the Upper East Side.

Two weeks later, he and Alice had viewed a list of properties in those areas. While they were excellent, some spectacular, for Edward, none had felt right. On Monday, hours before his departure, on a whim, he'd visited Brooklyn. Instead of the place conjuring up painful memories of his mother's death and his time in foster care, as he'd expected, he remembered the happy times—playing the old piano with Elizabeth, pancake dinners with Maria, who'd babysat him, and playing the guitar with Lou.

Back in LA, he'd called Patrick Porter and, through him, commissioned a realtor and appointed a real estate attorney to secure a Brooklyn property. A week later, Edward, had returned to Brooklyn to inspect three places. As soon as the realtor, Donna, pulled up outside the Old New York Dock building, he'd known he'd found the right place. Inside, the apartment's original steel-framed floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed concrete ceilings, and massive doors, together, with the newly added contemporary finishes create the perfect balance of old and new. Excited, Edward had ignored Donna's sales pitch as he'd wandered through the spacious rooms, stopping to inspect or take photographs.

"I'll take it," he'd cut her off mid-sentence.

It took her a moment to comprehend his words. "Are you sure? The other—" she'd said, but he'd interrupted once more.

"I don't need to see them; I want this place. My lawyer will be in touch to settle matters," he'd told her. Back at his hotel, Edward had phoned Ben Davidson, his real estate attorney with instructions to secure the property as soon as possible. He'd sent Alice the photographs he'd taken and then called. Thrilled, she'd insisted on joining him that night, Friday, to 'see for myself.'

The next morning, having arranged access, he and Alice visited the apartment. "It's perfect," she'd exclaimed when seeing the building and the shipping yard backdrop. Inside, she'd repeated the expression about the views of Manhattan, the concrete ceilings, and the freestanding, egg-shaped bath in the master suite—almost everything, in fact. And afterward, when, with Edward wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, they'd explored the neighborhood, she'd gushed about the homey restaurants and the edgy art galleries. "It's got a villagey vibe," she'd said.

"Villagey?" he'd teased.

"Shut up, Edward! I'm a doctor, not a lyricist," she'd laughed. "Did you live near here?"

"About half an hour away. The neighborhood was pretty rough; so was this place."

"Have you been back?"

"Just briefly, the last time I was here. Everyone I knew left, and everything's changed," he'd informed Alice.

That had been three months ago. Now, surveying the apartment he'd moved into less than a week ago, Edward feels a sense of satisfaction. The nearly three-thousand-square-foot loft, with its soaring ceilings, expansive windows, and spectacular views across the river to Manhattan, is a far cry from his cramped childhood apartment, but still, for him, being back in Brooklyn feels like coming home. Many neighborhoods have changed since he left, from blue-collar grittiness to white-collar chic. Many A-list celebrities now call Brooklyn home, and the trend will, no doubt, continue, but for Edward, it is home; something he'd only recently realized. It's where he was born, where, though the area was tough and they'd lacked financial security, he'd flourished in the warmth and safety of Elizabeth's and, later, Lou's love. For him, living in Brooklyn isn't about following a trend; it's about coming home and building a new life.

That life is off to a good start. For six months, since entering rehab, Edward's remained drug and alcohol-free. He's struggled at times, but the techniques gained at The Sanctuary and ongoing therapy sessions have altered his mindset about how to deal with things, good and bad. Also, he's learned to reach out for support when he needs it. Sometimes he calls Alice and sometimes, Chez, but, mostly, because of her professional and unbiased opinion and perhaps because she knows more about his demons than anyone else, he relies on Alex. In their last session before leaving LA, she'd recommended a New York therapist. "You're doing well, Edward, really well. Just don't try to fly solo, not for a while, and definitely not while touring," she'd advised.

"I won't," he'd promised.

"Dan's an excellent psychologist. I've referred several patients, and they've all praised him. Call me after you meet. If you're happy, I'll forward your case notes."

"Thanks again, Alex" Edward had said solemnly and offered his hand. She'd clasped it, and then, surprising him, had kissed his cheek.

"You're welcome, Edward," she'd said when pulling back. "You know you can always call, don't you? I'm no longer your therapist, but I think we know each other well enough to be friends, don't you?" she'd asked, sounding suddenly unsure.

"We do," he'd confirmed, and then, gently squeezing her hand he'd still held, added, "I'd like that very much—to be friends." Within days of relocating to New York, Edward had arranged an appointment with Daniel Scott, and the following day, called Alex to confirm that he'd continue seeing him.

Musically, he's in a good place, writing and composing prolifically again. Professionally, he's also back on track with Patrick representing him legally and Eva now officially on board as his manager. Patrick had, almost immediately after being appointed, reviewed Edward's contract with Arrius and is currently negotiating with them to acquire the master rights to his albums.

"I thought record companies always own the rights?" Edward had asked after hearing Patrick's plan.

"Generally, yes. They insist on it because whoever owns the master recordings, holds the key to generating income, but things are changing. Artists and managers are becoming aware, recognizing that there are other options available that allow them to retain master rights while still working with labels distribute and market their music."

"I fucked up!" Edward, frustrated, had announced.

"You didn't know. Your lawyer should have protected your interests by pushing for reversion rights or a revenue share deal.

"I don't blame Drew," Edward had said while inwardly rebuking himself for being an eager, trusting fool. "Reversion rights? What does that mean?"

"Essentially, it's returning the master rights to the copyright holder, usually the artist, after a pre-determined time. I assume that, like most new artists, you couldn't finance the production?" he'd asked and, when Edward had nodded, continued. "In that case, I would have pushed for reversion at the end of the contract term or offered a master license deal, where the label and artist share the licensing revenue. That's what savvy artists do these days."

"Aro would never have gone for that," Edward had thought out loud.

"He would have fought tooth and nail but, if he wanted you badly enough—and I'd say he did—he would have compromised," Patrick had responded.

"Fuck!" Edward had muttered. "Do we have a shot at succeeding?"

"Right now, probably not; your music, especially from your first two albums, is still selling." Again, Edward nodded because royalties, although not pouring in like they had in the albums' early days, are still flowing in steadily.

"I'm negotiating for a reversion in two, possibly, five years. I may not pull it off, but if I do, you'll eventually regain ownership," Patrick said.

"I want the rights to the first two albums. I don't care about the third."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you," Edward had said earnestly, grateful not only for his lawyer's initiative and tenacity but also for the valuable lesson he'd learned that day; one, Edward swore never to forget.

"I like a good challenge," Patrick had waved him off, earning more of Edward's liking and respect.

As news of Edward's split with Arrius had spread and with Eva still not on board, Edward had received several phone calls from record companies and reporters. He'd informed all the labels, other than those on his and Eva's shortlist, that his manager would contact them. To reporters, he'd said, 'No comment." The phone call from Jasper Whitlock, however, had been different. Out of respect for Josh, he'd agreed to meet and had suggested New York, where, the following weekend, he'd be visiting with Alice and Esme. "What about Monday before lunch," he'd added.

"Sounds good—around eleven?" Jasper had responded.

"Perfect," Edward said.

At that meeting, the pair had discussed music and the industry in general. They'd shared how they'd entered the business, and that conversation had naturally led to a discussion about Edward's music, his past albums and what he envisaged for the future. Jasper had, in turn, revealed his plans for Sigel, and the types of artists he'd like to sign.

"I'm surprised that you and not someone from your A&R department contacted me," Edward, remembering his experience with Arrius, had commented.

"I built Sigel by learning from my competitors but also by being different. Whenever possible, I get involved with negotiations for signing an artist, especially highly talented and successful ones like you. If you join us, and after we've signed the contract, we'll assign an A&R person to you, but you'll always have a direct line to me or Oscar, our head of A&R," he'd assured Edward.

"I'm keen to have you join us, Masen; that's why I contacted you," he'd added before detailing his offer, pleasantly surprising Edward when, without prompting, he'd mentioned splitting licensing revenue. Edward had listened and asked questions where appropriate.

"I'd like to discuss it with Eva, my manager, and then think about it," he'd finally said. Jasper, although disappointed, had readily accepted the decision. He hadn't pushed, not even when Edward informed him that he intended to meet with other labels and stressed that it could be a while before he decided. The men had left the meeting, each impressed by the other. Edward had admired the fact that Jasper hadn't tried to dissuade him from meeting with other record companies, and Jasper, in turn, had respected Edward's candor.

Almost a month later, Jasper had phoned and invited Edward to dinner when, in two days, he'd be in LA for business. During their second meeting, conversation had again flowed easily, but, unlike before when they'd talked exclusively about music and Jasper's offer, their discussion included world events and sport, a pastime both confessed to not being obsessed by. Neither man mentioned the potential contract. When Jasper had offered Edward wine with dinner, he had, without explanation, declined, saying, 'I'll stick with water." Jasper had been curious—few, if any, rock stars, in his experience, refuse alcohol— but he hadn't batted an eyelid. Instead, he'd informed the waiter that he, too, would drink water and then continued their conversation. Finally, at the end of the evening, as they shook hands, Jasper had said, "Call when you're ready."

"I will," Edward promised.

Another month passed, and Eva had assumed her duties as his manager. She and Edward had met with the other labels on their shortlist. Within a week, they'd all offered a preliminary contract; two included licensing revenue sharing, and the other provided reversion of master rights after ten years. "Ridiculous!" Eva had scoffed when reading the last proposal. Edward had agreed. For him, Sigel still ranked highest, but Eva, who hadn't met Jasper, had felt unsure, so Edward contacted him, requesting another meeting. Again, they'd decided on New York, after Jasper's expected return from a London business trip and shortly after Edward's planned move to Brooklyn.

In that meeting, two days ago, Edward had said little, allowing Eva to lead. She'd peppered Jasper with questions, most, they'd already had the answers to. She'd listened attentively, nodded on occasion, but mostly, she'd watched because Eva had wanted to judge the man—his character and his sincerity. Edward had known that when he'd arranged the meeting. He'd understood that she'd wanted to protect him, as his manager and as a friend because, after just weeks of working closely together, they'd already established a bond of friendship. He'd felt grateful for her support and had wanted to reciprocate, and so he'd called Jasper.

Jasper, Edward suspected, had also recognized and understood Eva's motives, and, yet, he'd answered her questions easily and frankly. Edward had appreciated that. Eventually, she'd glanced at Edward. He'd known, then, that she'd satisfied her doubts. "I think that's all," she'd said and thanked Jasper, and, for the first time since greeting him, allowed herself a smile. Edward had also thanked him before handing over Patrick's details. "If you send him the final contract, he'll deal with it immediately," he'd informed him.

"So, we have a deal?" Jasper had asked.

"Yes; once Eva and I have talked, and if our lawyers agree," Edward had answered.

"There's no reason they shouldn't," Jasper had returned, and again Edward had agreed.

"Should we plan on signing on Friday? At our offices— you'll get a chance to meet people and look around," Jasper had suggested.

"Sure. I'll make sure Patrick's ready, if you do the same with your lawyers," Eva had responded.

"They will be. I'll be in touch," Jasper had said and, after shaking hands with both him and Eva, had left.

Later, back at her hotel, when Edward had asked her opinion of Jasper, Eva had replied, "He's okay." And, when Edward had probed, she'd added, "A bit too charming and conscious of his looks for my taste, but okay." He'd laughed out loud, knowing that for Eva, that had been high praise. After leaving her, he'd called Jasper to confirm that they did, indeed, have a deal, and, at Japer's request, he'd couriered over a CD with the songs for his next album.

As predicted, the lawyers had speedily negotiated and agreed to the contract details. Late in the afternoon of the following day, both parties had declared themselves satisfied.

And now, as Edward pulls himself from his thoughts, a small, satisfied smile graces his lips. 'I'm ready,' he thinks, and he is ready—almost—to restart his career. All he needs to do is sign a record label, and tomorrow, at Sigel, he'll do just that.

 **. . . . .**

The next morning, for the first time since Jasper's invitation to visit his offices, Edward allows himself to think, _really_ think, about visiting Philadelphia. 'Get over it. She's moved on; you've moved on,' he tells himself. He ignores the part of his brain that conjures up memories of just how pathetic and destructive his coping methods had been; that points out that he hadn't, in fact, _started_ to move on until recently—not until Alex had confronted him with the truth about his relationships.

'It's just a fucking visit,' he scoffs, reminding himself that he can't avoid the place forever, especially after signing with Sigel and that, by tonight, he'll be back in Brooklyn, his real home.

Later that day, Eva, Edward, and Patrick, who'd flown into New York that morning, travel with Jasper. Edward sits beside him, and the two men are soon immersed in discussion about Edward's new songs. "They're damned good, Masen, equal to if not better than some of your other hits. We could have a number one album on our hands," Jasper says.

Edward thanks him. "We'll see," he downplays the potential for topping the album charts. He'd be satisfied with a couple of hit records and, if he's lucky, for the album to make it into the top ten. That, for him, would erase the memory of that last, disastrous album and everything related to it.

They chat, then, about backing musicians and production timelines. "When will Steve be free?" Jasper asks because Edward had insisted on the right to choose his producer, and backing artists. "Now, if we want."

"Good," Jasper says. "We'll start the ball rolling as soon we've signed. Can you make meetings next week?"

"Yes; Eva's already planned for that."

"What about this afternoon? Could you stick around for a bit? We usually give everyone a chance to meet artists after signing."

"Sure," Edward replies easily. "Eva and Patrick fly out at seven. I don't leave until nine."

"We could have dinner with some of your team if you like," Jasper offers.

"Thanks, but I'm catching up with a friend," Edward tells him. They fall into a comfortable silence then and, shortly after, the captain announces their landing.

"In the limo, when Jasper mentions celebratory drinks with the staff after the signing, Eva glances at Edward worriedly. "It's okay," he assures her.

Outside Sigel's premises, while Jasper speaks to the driver, she pulls Edward aside. "I'll get us out of it," she announces, her mouth set in a determined line.

"Eva, I appreciate your concern, but I have to get used to people around me drinking and doing shit," he reasons.

She scrutinizes him for a moment before, seemingly satisfied, she nods. "If it gets too much, let me know."

Touched by her concern, he touches her shoulder. "Thanks," he tells her.

Inside the building, after briefly greeting the receptionist, Jasper addresses his visitors. "We'll give you a tour later. This way; Karen's waiting in the conference room," he says and leads the way. Patrick falls into step beside him, while Eva and Edward follow. She shakes her head, amused when Edward frowns questioningly. Eagle-eyed, she'd noticed the seemingly disinterested women gathered in and around the reception desk, the many eyes, both male and female following their progress, and the tiny, distinctly feminine gasps and excited whispers that follow in their wake. She notices them all, Edward, however, seems oblivious.

At first, Eva had mistaken his elusiveness and his inattentiveness to the way he affected people, women especially, as an affectation—an attempt to be 'cool.' Years of observation and working with him, however, had taught her that Edward truly is either unaware of his attractiveness; that, except when he's performing, he remains aloof of all the hype associated with celebrity. That realization, coupled with his talent, his dedication to his career, and the fact that she genuinely likes him, is why she accepted the role as his manager. It's also why, professional obligations aside, she feels protective. It's why, despite reading about his drinking and hearing the rumors about his drug taking and womanizing, she'd always believed in the man she'd first met. Without knowing the truth, Eva had, somehow, known that there'd been more than the weight of fame, and the temptation of touring that had led to his downward spiral.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, smiling. Edward's about to press for answers when, for some unknown reason, he looks past Eva. He freezes, his eyes widening in shock. 'Fuck,' he thinks or mutters, he's not sure which; his heart's hammering too erratically in his chest, the blood thundering too loudly through his veins to tell.

'No! This isn't happening. This is _not_ supposed to be happening!' his mind screams while his eyes devour her. He wants to rush to her side, his body aches to touch her, but his brain, the infinitesimal part that remains rational, keeps him in place—only just. Eva's touch saves him from making an ass himself. With immense effort, he controls himself, digs deep into his reserves of preservation. He tears his eyes away from her face, nods to ease Eva's concern before continuing on his way.

Edward acknowledges Jasper's introductions graciously. He nods, even manages a smile, when appropriate. Thankfully, no one expects him to say much; Patrick, Eva and Jasper's lawyers do that. Outwardly, he's composed, his mind, however, runs amok, wondering how Bella ended up at Sigel, cursing fate for gifting him with, what he terms, another mind fuck. He castigates himself for agreeing to meet staff, but mostly, he wars with conflicting emotions; a desire to see her again and something he knows is unjustified—a growing sense of anger at her for reappearing in his life now, just as he's about to start over.

Eva, again, pulls him from his internal conflict. "Masen," she says, drawing his attention as Patrick accepts a document from Jasper and passes it to him. He signs where his lawyer indicates and repeats the process again, and again, aware that, with each stroke of his pen, his inevitable meeting with Bella draws closer.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **This chapter is dreadfully late; I apologize. I won't bore you with excuses or with the trials and tribulations of my life, except to assure you that if I could have, I would have posted much earlier.**

 **Thank you to all my loyal readers. Your ongoing support and words of encouragement mean the world to me. A warm welcome to those who have recently joined the Unplugged journey, and a heartfelt thanks to those who have favorited the story and/or me.**

 **Last but most assuredly not least; Unplugged has been nominated in the Twific Fandom Awards in the 'drop everything fic category. To the reader or readers who've honored me in this way, thank you from the bottom of my heart! If you haven't checked out the list of nominees, do so. There are so many gifted and wonderful writers on this site. Writers thrive on encouragement; show your appreciation by voting: twificfandomawards dot blogspot dot com  
**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**


	23. Chapter 23

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty-One**

"Bella? _Bella_!" Lia breaks Bella's stupor. "What the hell was that?" she demands.

"I…I…nothing," Bella stammers.

"Nothing my ass!" Lia scoffs, and when she doesn't respond, snatches the bottle of water from the desk and thrusts it under her nose. "Drink," she says, waiting until Bella takes several sips before continuing.

"What's going on? And don't say nothing because, obviously, something is or has happened between you and Masen. You know him, don't you?"

Bella's first instinct is to deny any association. In fact, she'd like to ignore or refuse to discuss Edward, something she's done since Dallas. She'd confided in Erin only because she'd instigated the trip, and, given their closeness, once Erin had known, it had been impossible not to tell Hayley.

They'd called Edward every derogatory name under the sun. 'You were right to kick him to the curb,' Hayley had said. Erin had agreed, and, whenever Bella's resolve had weakened, they'd reminded her of his betrayal. "How can you trust him again?" Erin would ask. "He's no good; he'll do it again," Hayley had invariably declared.

Heartbroken, humiliated, and angry, Bella hadn't argued. She'd felt supported, vindicated even, in her refusal to speak to Edward. Months, even years later, when raw emotion had receded, she'd wondered why, knowing she'd wanted to forget, her best friends had, at every opportunity, reminded her of his betrayal. Bella had excused their behavior as loyalty until Alice's outburst had compelled her to question their friendship.

"Bella?" Lia prompts.

"Yes," Bella admits. She feels defeated; shocked to the core at how profoundly Edward still affects her. She's also tired; tired of bottling up her feelings.

Lia, seeing her distress, reaches for her hand. "Tell me," she urges, and Bella does—haltingly at first but, encouraged by her friend's non-judgmental attitude, words flow, seemingly of their own accord. Lia's expression shifts from incredulous, to intrigue, to concern, and back. "Shit!" she mutters when Bella stops and then, after a moment, asks, "That was six years ago?"

"Almost seven."

"And you haven't seen or spoken since?" Bella shakes her head.

"Didn't you want to know what he had to say?"

"He didn't _have_ anything to say except that he couldn't remember," Bella points out.

"Mmm," Lia murmurs.

"What?" Bella asks.

"Nothing," Lia shrugs.

"You always have something to say," Bella challenges.

"Okay. Don't misunderstand me—I believe cheaters deserve a kick in the balls before being dumped, but—"

"But what? What would _you_ have done?" Bella, feeling defensive, demands.

"Well, first, I would've kicked him in the balls, and then, I may have dumped his cheating ass— _after_ hearing what he had to say." She stops Bella's protest with a wave of her hand.

"I've worked in this business for a while, and I've been around the relationship block a few times, so I know that men, especially rock stars can be assholes—but, I also know that many aren't. From what you've said, Masen wasn't one—not before Dallas anyway…" she stops, looking questioningly at Bella, who agrees. "Did he ever lie to you before?"

"No," Bella answers, and again Lia shrugs noncommittally.

"What?" Bella asks, irritated this time.

"I don't know Masen, but it seems like the man adored you, and that he'd never even looked at another woman with interest since you started dating."

"I know what I saw," Bella argues.

"I'm not disputing that."

"But?" Bella demands angrily.

"No buts. I'm just wondering if you saw everything, and why, if Masen never lied before, he'd say he couldn't remember if he could. That's a stupid excuse, and, from what I gather, he's definitely not stupid." Lia's tone softens. "I'm not saying you were right or wrong, Bella. I'm just pointing out things that, maybe, you chose to forget."

Bella, remembering how Alice had also suggested that she didn't know all the facts, doesn't respond. "They'll be out soon," Lia says, motioning toward the conference room.

Bella blanches at the reminder. The fact that she might have to see Edward often, _interact_ with him, induces a state of near panic. Over the years, she'd imagined running into him. In those flights of fancy, she'd been composed, armed with just the right words to demonstrate how unaffected she was by his presence. She hadn't felt so ill-prepared or vulnerable as she does now. 'Pull yourself together!' she rebukes herself when realizing that soon, she, along with every other Sigel employee, is expected to welcome their new client.

Desperate for time on her own, she turns to Lia. "I won't be long," she informs her and, reaching into a drawer, produces a toiletry bag.

"Do you want me to wait?" Lia asks, and Bella nods gratefully. The last thing she wants is to be late and enter The Common on her own.

"Do you want people to know?" Lia asks then.

"I…I don't know." Bella panics at the thought of reliving the negative attention she'd received on campus after breaking up with Edward. "I…just give me a moment, okay?" she says.

"Go! I'll be here," Lia assures her, and Bella races to the ladies'. Thankful to find the place deserted, she enters a stall, sits on the closed seat, and breathes deeply. 'You can do this,' she tells herself over and over until, realizing that time's running out, she stands.

At the mirror, she gathers her hair into a ponytail, and then, using a hand towel soaked in cold water, dabs her face, neck, and throat. She applies tinted moisturizer and mascara, pausing when her hand trembles. She inhales, steadies herself, and finishes with a dusting of blush and lip gloss. Shaking her hair loose, she fluffs it before standing back to inspect her image in the mirror. 'There,' she mutters and, taking another deep breath, leaves.

Bella finds Lia poring over her computer. Her friend, when seeing her, motions impatiently before returning her attention to the screen. "Is this you?" she demands.

Bella's heart somersaults. She knows, without looking, what Lia means; the music tells her. 'It's in the past,' she reminds herself, willing her brain not to relive that happy time.

"Bella?" Lia glances over her shoulder.

"Yes," Bella confesses.

"I've listened to this song and watched the video dozens of times. How the hell didn't I recognize you?" Lia's not asking; her eyes are glued to the screen. "There's no close up of your face," she mutters—"but now that I know, I can tell." Finally, she faces Bella. "You know, if anyone else suspects and sees this, they'll know."

"Bella?" she asks impatiently. Bella tears her eyes from the screen, from the couple so obviously in love. 'It's in the past,' she thinks.

"I know," she tells Lia.

"So, what's your plan?"

"Say nothing,"

"To everyone?"

"Perhaps I should tell Jasper, Kate, and Harrison."

"What if others ask?"

"I won't discuss it."

"Okay," Lia nods. "Don't worry. I've got your back."

Gratitude and affection well up in Bella. She'd witnessed Lia's fierce loyalty to her friends, to Karen and Harrison, even Sigel. She hadn't thought she'd be a recipient—certainly not this soon—and she hadn't expected her to be so nonjudgmental. Unlike Erin and Hayley, Lia, it's clear, has said her piece and has moved on. Bella thanks her, her voice choked with emotion.

"No problem," Lia responds nonchalantly. Let's go; I'm sure everyone's already there.

In The Common, it seems that every employee has, indeed, gathered. The excited conversations and anticipation, hanging heavy in the air, does nothing to calm Bella's nerves. Zoe, their friend in A&R, spots them and waves. "You go," Bella tells Lia.

"If you don't want people to know, you have to suck it up," Lia responds. She doesn't push; she waits, surprisingly tolerant, while Bella agonizes about sitting near the front where a mic's set up for Jasper and where, no doubt, Edward will also be standing.

"You're right," Bella concedes. Joining the group of overly excited colleagues, females mostly, she tries to block out their gushing. "He's sooo fine," Zoe says. Another sighs wistfully. "Hot as hell," she agrees, and, yet another, fans herself. "I'd do anything to get him into bed," she fantasizes. Thankfully, they're too preoccupied with outdoing each other to notice Bella's silence. "Lia?" Zoe finally asks, and Lia turns to wink surreptitiously at Bella before, in a bored voice, she says, "He's not that hot. Besides, I heard he's gay."

Bella gapes at the outrageous statement, and, despite the knot in her stomach, bursts into a fit of giggles. She's still laughing with Lia when a collective gasp goes up around her. "Holy hell; he's even hotter in person," Zoe exclaims. Bella's eyes follow everyone else's, and, for the second time that day, her heart goes into free fall.

. . . . .

An hour ago, Edward had sat in the Sigel meeting room, agonizing about this moment. He'd experienced both dread and excitement as he'd signed the final page of the last copy of the contract.

"Welcome to Sigel; we're thrilled to have you," Jasper had leaned across the table with his hand outstretched.

"Glad to be here," Edward had responded with equal warmth as he'd gripped it firmly. A flurry of congratulations had followed, and, almost immediately after, Patrick had announced that he needed to leave to catch his flight to LA. When he, Karen, and Harrison had departed, Jasper had suggested a tour of the premises.

Edward had felt grateful when Eva had walked beside Jasper, occupying him with compliments and questions. He'd followed a step behind, his mind filled with thoughts of seeing Bella again. He'd wondered, should he get the chance, if he should speak to her, acknowledge their past—if she'd _want_ him to. He'd also wondered how, if he gets close, he'll keep from touching her. Mostly, he'd wondered how he's going to speak to her without the bitterness that still churns in his gut from spilling over. These thoughts had looped around his head throughout the meeting, yet he'd remained unsure. He had made one decision—not to give Bella another chance to reject him; memory of how, despite him pleading, she'd refused to talk, her determination when sending him away; his inadequate handling of their breakup and what it nearly cost him, still too raw to take the risk.

"Masen," Jasper's voice brings him back to the present. "This is our common room where, as you can see, everyone's waiting to meet you." Eva answers, her tone admiring as they enter. Her words, however, are meaningless to Edward because his eyes have found Bella. Unlike their last meetings in Philly when her face had been utterly miserable, or earlier that day, when it had been bone-white with shock, Bella's laughing. His mind conjures up happy memories, and, although he can't hear, the sound of her giggle reverberates in his brain. The reminders are bittersweet—recollections of the many times he'd elicited that response; of how often he'd kissed her laughter away, and how those kisses had led to more.

Her eyes meet his, and her smile drops. To Edward, the reaction is just another sign of how unwelcome Bella finds his presence. He turns away.

Jasper steps up to the mic and waits until Edward joins him and Eva before speaking. "I haven't seen The Common this crowded in a while; I guess you've been dyin' to know who our new artist is," he says, his Texan accent more pronounced on his home turf. "Well, the secret's out, as you can see," he turns his head to smile at Edward. "If anyone doesn't know Masen or hasn't heard his music; where the hell've you been, and what the hell are you doin' in this business?" he jokes, and a wave of laughter sweeps the room. "Seriously, though, folks, I'm proud to announce that we've signed Masen," he announces to the sound of boisterous applause. Jasper waits until it subsides. "He's ready to start recordin', so we'll be releasin' his new album in a few months." Edward nods when he looks at him for confirmation. "The lady with Masen is Eva Jensen, his manager, so make her feel welcome too." Another round of applause breaks out. When it dies down, Jasper invites Edward to the mic.

He wraps his hand around the stand, long fingers curling around the mic head as he leans in. "Thanks everyone for your warm welcome. Eva and I are thrilled to be associated with Sigel and look forward to working with you," he says and, for the first time since entering the room, smiles. There's a heartbeat's silence as Sigel staff, first-hand, experience their new star's magnetism. The longing female sighs are drowned out by yet another wave of, this time thunderous, applause.

Jasper's smile, already wide, broadens even more at the reaction. "Bar's open!" he calls out, not bothering with the mic. "If you get a chance, say hi to Masen and Eva." Almost immediately, every one of the many, gigantic television screens dotting the walls springs to life with footage of one Edward's earliest concerts.

While servers dispense drinks, people form groups to watch the onscreen performance or the man himself as they chat about their company's newest acquisition—what they know, what they've read, and what they've heard about Masen.

"He's awesome," one young man, a promotions staffer, says. "I hope I get to work on his album."

"His last one tanked," another observes.

"That's probably why he split with Arrius," a woman comments. "Jasper wouldn't sign someone washed-up."

"Who cares?" another female says. "He's beyond sexy."

"Yeah and screws around," a male from the promotions department adds.

"What rock star doesn't or hasn't? At least he's not married—besides, you should know better than to believe all the crap you read!" she snaps.

Edward and Eva, meanwhile, are meeting Ben Dixon, 'known as Dix', Sigel's A&R Director, Nick Watts, Sales and Marketing Manager, and Mary O'Brien, Director of Publicity. "Me, Karen, Harrison, and this group will be your main contacts," Jasper informs them. While Nick and Mary engage Eva in conversation about distribution and promotions, Dix, Jasper, and Edward talk production. Throughout their exchanges, Edward, although he doesn't know exactly where she is, remains aware of her presence. Their discussion, luckily, distracts him enough to control the compulsion to turn and find her.

Eventually, after scheduling meetings, they move on, and Jasper performs several more introductions as they navigate the room. They've stopped yet again, this time to speak to eight or ten people, and there, on the edge of the group, standing next to Harrison and a blonde woman, is Bella. He'd expected to see her, but still, her sudden appearance catches Edward off guard. For a moment, suspended in time, he freezes, unable to speak or move to greet the person Jasper's presenting.

Jasper stops mid-sentence, puzzled by the tension between his newest star and most recent employee. He notes their locked gazes and pained expressions, and how, despite their evident discomfort, their bodies angle toward each other. He glances around, searching for clues, but everyone else appears just as baffled and curious as he is—except, he notes, Eva and Lia. They show only concern.

Jasper's still pondering this when Edward, becoming aware of the scrutiny, drags his eyes from Bella's. Inwardly, he curses for focusing on her mouth instead. He can't help thinking about how he'd kissed that mouth, and how, once, to stop her from biting her lip, he'd claimed ownership of that mouth. "This," he'd said, freeing her lip, "is mine. Only I can bite it." He'd demonstrated his ownership and when, breathless, they'd surfaced for air, Bella had pretended outrage. "And what part of your body's mine?" she'd challenged. "Every part," he'd answered, and he'd circled her hips with his. His actions had been deliberately suggestive, but he'd been sincere. Bella _had_ owned every part of him.

'In another life,' he reminds himself. He schools his face into an impassive mask. "Hello, Bella. How are you?" he greets her.

"Edward…I…I'm fine, thank you," Bella answers and then, realizing her mistake, glances wide-eyed at Lia. She's relieved when, smiling, her friend steps forward. "Hi. I'm Lia, part of the legal team," she greets Eva before turning enthusiastically to Edward. "I'm a _huge_ fan," she tells him and then, with her vivacity at full blast, dominates the conversation, allowing Bella to slip away.

When Jasper manages to extricate Edward and introduce him to the rest of the group, Harrison pulls Lia aside. "What the hell?" he whisper-yells. "I know you're nuts but that was excessive even for you—and what's up with Bella?"

"I'm not nuts. Bella, hopefully, is back at her desk, and we'll fill you in later." She pats his cheek and then, smiling impudently over her shoulder, bounces out.

Bella is, indeed, at her desk and looks up when Lia arrives with two glasses of white wine in hand. "Thanks," she smiles weakly as she accepts one.

"What're you thinking?" Lia asks, humming appreciatively when taking a sip.

"How badly I messed up."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Ugh! I acted like a starstruck groupie…I called him _Edward._ " Bella groans, remembering the speculative looks her slip up caused.

"Drink!" Lia orders. "At least you didn't drool. Did you see Janice? Her tongue was hanging out. If she hiked her skirt up any higher it could have doubled as a scarf!" Bella smiles at the apt description. "Besides, he mentioned your name first, Bella. That man's as affected by you as you are by him," Lia points out.

Bella, reluctant to contemplate what that means, ignores the comment, and Lia, as usual, doesn't push. "Wanna get out of here?" she offers.

"Won't Karen wonder where we are?"

"No one's expected to do any more work today; not unless they have to. Let's get a drink somewhere and plan your story because Harrison already asked what's going on."

On Monday morning, before Bella has a chance to speak to Karen as she'd planned, Jasper appears at her desk. "I promised we'd talk. How about doing it over coffee?" he invites.

"Now?" Bella asks, shooting a worried glance at Karen's office.

"Karen won't mind," Jasper assures her. He waits as she gathers her handbag and then, resting a hand on the small of her back, leads her out.

Bella avoids Lia's raised eyebrow and Harrison's curious stare. Outside, Jasper suggests the coffee shop where they'd met before. Bella agrees, and they walk the short distance, his hand returning to her back whenever they need to weave around pedestrians or potential obstacles in their path.

"Same as before?" Jasper asks as they settle at a table.

"Yes, thanks," Bella says, surprised that he remembers.

"Something to eat?" he offers, but she declines.

A short time later, Jasper returns with a Piccolo Latte for her and an espresso for himself. "Thanks," she murmurs, wrapping both hands around the glass before meeting his gaze.

"Are you enjoying Sigel?" he asks.

"Loving it."

"Good!" Jasper smiles. "I'm happy you joined, Bella. Karen's pleased too—and Harrison and Lia; they all sing your praises. So do your clients."

Bella thanks him, her face heating at both the compliment and his intent gaze. She takes a sip of coffee, an excuse to avert her eyes.

"How do you know Masen?" Jasper asks.

She'd expected the question but, still, Bella can't control the hurt that flits across her face. She takes another sip before looking up. "We were childhood friends," she admits and, after a second's hesitation, adds, "and we dated for a while."

Jasper nods. After witnessing their interplay he'd suspected a relationship, and, over the weekend, he'd searched for and found confirmation when reading about a campus radio interview he'd overlooked. After that, he'd rewatched the Beautiful Home video. 'Dated for a while', based on what he'd seen and heard, is a gross understatement.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Things just didn't work out."

"How long ago was that?"

"Nearly seven years. It's in the past," Bella shrugs, and Jasper mentally scoffs. In his view, neither she nor Edward has put the past behind them. He doesn't voice his opinion, and, despite his burning curiosity, doesn't ask how or why things had gone wrong.

"I hope you're not thinking of quitting?" he asks instead.

"No!" she assures him. "Ed…Masen and I—we won't have to deal with each other."

"Good," Jasper smiles and, reaching across the table, takes her hand and stares at her, almost too long for comfort, before speaking. "I...We'd hate to lose you, Bella," he says and releases her hand. He changes the subject by asking about her clients.

Karen, when Bella tells her, barely raises an eyebrow. "Half the people in this business have a present or past with someone else in it, Bella. As long as it doesn't compromise your professionalism or Sigel in any way, it's none of my or anyone else's business. What about you? Can you cope with having Masen around?" she asks.

"It's in the past," Bella repeats what, by now, has become a mantra.

Harrison, who, unlike Karen, had witnessed her and Edward's interaction, isn't as easily convinced. "Bullshit!" he responds matter-of-factly when Bella, again, uses the phrase. He does, however, echo Karen's sentiments when learning about her decision not to tell others at Sigel. "It's none of their business," he says and assures her of his support.

As rumors about her and Masen's 'odd' behavior spread, more and more of Bella's colleagues approach her with questions. "Did you hook up with him?", "Did you meet him when making the video?", and "Why did you call him Edward?" are the ones most frequently asked. Her "No," "No," and "We went to the same school," doesn't always satisfy. In those instances, Lia's "What part of _no_ don't you understand," or, "she just told you," or, with the persistent ones, her jovial but firm "mind your own business," generally achieves results.

Harrison, busy with finalizing Karen's handover, can't always lend support, but whenever he is, he deals with the gossipers in much the same way. Eventually, with nothing new to fuel them, the rumors die down. Bella tries but can't forget Edward's re-emergence and how he still affects her. She finds herself wondering more and more about Alice's accusations and what, possibly, she could have missed that night in Dallas.

Over the next weeks, Karen goes on maternity leave, and Harrison steps in as acting head of the legal department. Through Sigel's very active grapevine, Bella learns that Edward is in pre-production for his album, and thanks to it, she's also made acutely aware of whenever he's in the building. At those times, Bella avoids the A&R area where production meetings are held.

Twice, despite her precautions, she runs into him. The first time happens in the reception area as she's dashing out to meet her mother for lunch. Again, Edward greets her first—politely, as one would an acquaintance rather than someone you'd once known intimately. The second occurs, when, during a meeting in The Common, he, Jasper, Dix, and another man arrive. Edward acknowledges her with a nod and a slight smile before Dix reclaims his attention. On both occasions Bella's left with an empty feeling, and, no matter how often or forcefully she reminds herself that he's doing what she asked, the sense of loss prevails.

A month later, during their weekly progress meeting, Harrison mentions that he'll be flying to LA to attend a meeting at Arrius. He explains that Edward's lawyer's negotiations over the reversion of master recordings have stalled. "Why are we getting involved?" Lia asks.

"Jasper and Masen have hashed out a deal that Patrick and I will take to Arrius," Harrison informs them.

"Artists don't usually win reversion cases do they—especially for recent works?" Bella asks.

"You're right. Labels hate relinquishing master recordings, and, generally, when an artist wins, they insist on a nondisclosure clause, so no one knows exactly how many cases there've been or how many were successful."

"What makes you think Arrius will agree to this deal?" Bella asks.

"They probably won't, but Jasper and Masen want us to try, and they want us to offer the deal before he goes into the studio."

"What difference will that make? They know he'll be releasing a new album," Lia points out.

"But they don't know how good or bad it will be. Jasper and Masen want us to leverage that advantage while we have it. Lia, I want you to go with me," he tells her.

"Sure; when?"

"Tuesday. Patrick will brief us for our meeting on Wednesday morning," Harrison answers.

"Can't. I have a meeting to discuss Amy Jones' renewal."

"Why can't you move the meeting?"

"You know Amy; she'll throw a fit."

Harrison nods. Amy Jones is highly talented but notoriously difficult. "Bella?" he asks. "Do you have anything on?"

"No; but can't you take someone from Whitely's?"

"Jasper wants us to keep it in-house," he tells her.

"Masen won't be there," Lia assures Bella. "Will he?" she asks Harrison.

"No, but, Bella, even if he had been, I still would've expected you to go," he says, smiling to soften his words.

"I know, and I would have," Bella assures him. "I just thought a Whitely lawyer would be more impressive."

" _You're_ impressive," Harrison tells her.

"Damn right!" Lia agrees, and Bella, her face heating, thanks them.

. . . . .

For Bella, stepping into Arrius' offices feels surreal, familiar yet different. The reception layout is the same, the walls the same charcoal grey. The leather sofas, once taupe, are now a rich navy, and the receptionist, although new, is young and blonde, almost identical in appearance to her predecessor.

She smiles and lifts the phone when Patrick announces their arrival and speaks to someone on the other end. Soon, a woman, who introduces herself as Anne, Mitch Walker's EA, arrives and leads the way to a conference room. Inside a man who, despite his fuller face, larger waistline, and graying hair, Bella instantly recognizes as Mitch waits to greet them. He shakes Patrick's hand, and Patrick introduces Bella and Harrison. Mitch doesn't remember Bella, something she's grateful for.

Mitch, in turn, presents Arrius' lawyers, Randy, Doug, and Claire. Bella barely hides her smile when her eyes meet Harrison's because when she'd asked who, from Arrius, would be attending, he'd said, "Mitch Walker, Aro's right-hand man, and at least one more lawyer than us. You know, a show of superiority," he'd added at her questioning look. She'd laughed, thinking he'd been joking.

"What are they all going to do? What do you want me to do?" she'd asked.

"Nothing; just watch and listen. Only one lawyer from either side is expected to talk. You'll see. That's how the game's played. Why'd you think I insisted you attend?" Harrison had answered.

"Why not someone from Patrick's office?"

"Wouldn't have been the same. Tomorrow's showdown is really between labels."

"Then why didn't we outnumber them by including someone from Whitely's?"

"Because we're not show-offs," he'd deadpanned, and Bella had laughed even louder. She hadn't, however, asked why, if he didn't want to show off, he'd insisted on her attending.

"If they really wanted to outgun us, why not have Aro there?" she'd asked instead.

"He won't show until Jasper does, and neither party is ready to bring out the big guns yet," Harrison had explained. Bella had nodded, but she'd still doubted his reasoning. Now, though, facing Arrius' serious-faced lawyers, she's starting to believe his logic.

"Shall we get started?" Mitch suggests when everyone's seated. "You know where we stand on your last proposal, so I'm assuming you have something new to offer?" he tells Patrick.

"We have," Patrick confirms before handing over to Harrison. Bella watches, intrigued and astounded by the change in her colleague and friend. The usually laid-back man is gone, replaced by a steely-eyed lawyer.

"I'll cut to the chase," he addresses Mitch. "Since releasing Masen's last album, Arrius hasn't and won't, in the foreseeable future, be promoting his work. No one expects you to; _he_ doesn't expect you to. His albums are still selling, but, eventually, their revenue will reduce to peanuts, and it will be a long time before you can realistically repackage his music." Harrison pauses, his eyes sweeping the room.

Bella does the same. She notes the opposing lawyers' unchanged faces. Mitch, however, can't hide the calculating gleam in his eye. 'Bingo,' she thinks, 'we may have an opening.'

"Based on these facts, we believe ten million for the reversion of the first two albums' rights is fair and reasonable," he finishes, leans back in his chair, and waits.

"Hardly," Randy, apparently the spokesperson for the Arrius' legal team, responds dispassionately.

"How do you reach that conclusion?" Harrison counters.

"Sigel's making the offer. I think you should justify it," Randy returns.

"I agree," Harrison, unperturbed, replies. He reaches into his leather folio, removes a sheaf of paper, and hands a copy to each of the Arrius representatives. "I think you'd agree that the popularity and success of the listed artists compare favorably with Masen. Our projections for revenue from Masen's existing albums over the next five years are based on those artists' works. _Those_ comparisons, we believe, make our offer very generous," he tells Randy.

"To you," Mitch scoffs. "Ten million an album for all three, and we _may_ consider it."

"We're not interested in the third album and won't pay a penny for the rights," Harrison says. Mitch leans forward, but before he can respond, Randy intervenes.

"Could we have the room?" he asks. Harrison agrees and motions to Bella and Patrick, who are already gathering their things. Claire, meanwhile, is speaking to someone on the internal phone. Minutes later, Anne reappears to escort them to another room, where, she informs them, refreshments are available.

There, Harrison, Patrick, and Bella don't mention or speculate on the preceding discussions. They'd prepared the night before, and, so far, events are unfolding just as predicted. "It's a ritual," Harrison had explained when describing what he thought Arrius' response would be to their offer. "We give them something to reject; they make a counteroffer, which we reject, and eventually, if they're serious about relinquishing their rights, we get down to business."

"What's our final offer?" she'd asked.

"Jasper and Masen have agreed that we'd go to either ten million for the two albums plus a maximum of four percent royalty on his next two, or twenty million outright."

"Coffee or water?" Patrick offers Bella.

"Water, thanks. How long do you expect to wait?" she asks Harrison.

"Fifteen or twenty minutes, even if they decide in five. All part of the game," he informs her and winks.

"I'll be back in time," she promises before leaving for the ladies'.

Having washed her hands, Bella checks her phone. Seeing a text from Gina, her and Lia's assistant, she rings the office. "Bella, hi," Gina greets her and asks about changes to a contract she's typing. Bella clarifies wording, asks her to send a copy for checking, and then hangs up. She's about to respond to another message when the door to the washroom opens, and a person she'd hoped never to see again appears. She fiddles with her phone, hoping Victoria enters a stall without noticing her, but she has. She stops, her eyes widening in surprise before her face settles into a smug smile. Bella considers leaving but Victoria's blocking the way, preventing her from escaping without having to push past her. To her, that's too reminiscent of Dallas when, devastated, she'd rushed past a similarly gloating Victoria.

"Bella," Victoria's voice drips with condescension. "So the stupid little mouse is back."

"I'm not a mouse, nor am I stupid," Bella returns, her voice cold and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the anger she feels.

"You are. _Very_ stupid!"

"Whatever. If believing that makes you feel better about yourself, go right ahead, Victoria. I don't have time to waste on someone like you!"

"Someone like me? You don't know who you're dealing with, mouse!"

'Screw it,' Bella bristles at the repeated insult. "I know _exactly_ who and what you are—I've always known. You didn't bother me then, and you don't bother me now," she responds.

"Really?" Victoria mocks. "Maybe you _should_ have been," she smiles, knowing and spiteful. Bella's stomach twists. Victoria, she can tell, is building up to something truly nasty. Relief floods her when her phone rings. "Where are you?" Harrison asks.

"On my way," she tells him, and, still holding her phone, starts to leave. Victoria, however, doesn't move. "Do you mind?" Bella asks pointedly.

Victoria's eyes narrow to slits as years of resentment toward Bella boils over. "You're not leaving before I tell you exactly how stupid you are, " she says.

"I'm not playing your stupid games." Bella steps forward, but Victoria blocks her path, this time deliberately. Bella freezes, not knowing what to expect. She lifts her phone to call Harrison but, instinctively, hits video instead and then lowers her arm.

"You already have. You played right into my hands." Victoria says, and laughs, a harsh, derisive sound, when seeing Bella's bewilderment. "You really have no idea, do you?" she laughs again. "What did you see in Dallas; what do you _think_ you saw?"

Bella pales as images she'd fought long and hard to eradicate flood her mind.

"I know what I saw," Bella says, wishing she sounded more confident.

"Do you?" Victoria taunts, and Bella frowns when remembering Alice's challenge.

"You saw Masen with his eyes closed, and a woman kneeling with her head near his lap. Did you see her unzip his pants? Touch him—with her hands; with her mouth? _Did_ you?" Victoria practically spits the words.

Bella's too shocked by the implication to respond. Victoria smiles triumphantly at Bella's uncertainty. "Nothing happened, mouse."

" _Nothing_ ," she repeats when Bella shakes her head. "You were all so easy—you, Masen, that stupid groupie. Of course, it wouldn't have worked if you'd stayed, but I knew you'd run. That you weren't strong enough to fight for him."

"Edward…how?" Bella manages through the lump in her throat.

"Amazing what a couple of pills will do," Victoria boasts.

"You _drugged_ him?" Bella demands, appalled.

"I had to," Victoria says matter-of-factly, as if she's commenting on the weather. A surge of anger sweeps through Bella; so powerful, her hands shake with the effort to control it.

"You're _despicable_!" she hisses, injecting every ounce of loathing she feels into her voice. "You won't get away with this."

"No one's going to believe you, mouse. You lost," Victoria laughs.

"So did you. You stooped so low, and yet you still didn't get what you want," Bella retaliates, and, this time, doesn't hesitate to barge her way past.

She's still trembling when she enters the meeting room. "What took you so long? They called us back ten minutes ago," Harrison sounds agitated, and then, seeing her ashen face, rushes to her side. "Are you okay?"

Bella nods as he guides her to a chair. Patrick offers a glass of water. "What…" Harrison asks, but Bella, taking a long sip, stops him by lifting her forefinger.

"In there…if they make an offer, don't accept or counter," she tells him.

"If they come back with a reasonable deal, we can't refuse," Patrick reasons.

"We don't have time for me to explain but, please, just trust me, okay?" she appeals to both men. A moment passes as they scrutinize her, and then, almost simultaneously, they nod.

"Fine, but you better have a damned good reason," Harrison warns.

"I do," she assures them.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I'd like, once again, to thank readers who voted for Unplugged in the Twific Fandom Awards. Unfortunately, it didn't make it into the second round. I congratulate those authors who made it and wish them the very best of luck. Also, I encourage readers to vote. Writing is often a thankless task; show your appreciation by voting.**

 **Welcome to any new readers, and thank you to those who have favorited either Unplugged or me since the last posting. And, always, always, a heartfelt thanks to my friends and loyal supporters**

 **Forgive me for addressing the next comment in this forum. I don't usually mention such issues. (I think I've only publicly responded to a troubling review once before). Generally, I delete abusive guest reviews because I refuse to promote negativity or enable those who spread abhorrent and cowardly behavior. This particular review wasn't abusive or negative. Nevertheless, it irked me when someone, using the guest option, warned me that I'd lose readers if I didn't post soon. May I, respectfully, refer you to my last A/N. If I could have posted earlier, I would have.**

 **I don't deliberately procrastinate. If I'm 'late,' it's because I have other, pressing obligations. Life happens, and sometimes a posting schedule changes due to circumstances beyond an author's control. I have never left and will never leave a story unfinished.**

 **Right now, my family needs me. They, my friends, and other immovable responsibilities take precedence over my writing—Fanfiction or original works. I value every reader—I hope I've demonstrated that—and I'd hate to lose any, but it's your prerogative to stop reading, just as it is mine to prioritize my life. Please bear that in mind.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**


	24. Chapter 24

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

True to Harrison's prediction, Arrius rejects their offer. "Ten million for each of the three albums plus ten percent royalty on sales of existing and any new albums Masen produces over the next five years," Randy, again the spokesperson, informs them.

"We'll get back to you," Harrison responds, surprising their opposition who, from the silent exchange between Mitch and Randy, it's evident, had expected an attempt to negotiate. Instead, Harrison stands, thanks Mitch and his team for their time, and when he, Bella, and Patrick have shaken hands with everyone, they leave.

In a cab, traveling back to the hotel, Bella, still reeling from Victoria's revelations, is grateful when neither Harrison nor Patrick questions her. She stares out of the window and, while they quietly strategize about how to move Arrius to accept their offer, she contemplates the full implications of Victoria's actions.

'Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ ," her mind screams when remembering how perfectly she'd played into Victoria's hands. Tears form at the memory of Edward's anguish when confessing his memory loss, and a muffled sob escapes her when thinking about how, despite nothing sexual having happened, he'd still feel violated and betrayed when learning the truth.

'You betrayed him too,' her conscience taunts, and Bella groans, audibly apparently, because Harrison looks up in concern. She ignores his unspoken question, quickly averting her eyes as she fights back tears.

She wants, desperately, to be alone—to rant and scream, do something, _anything_ , to ease the weight of guilt and remorse swamping her—but she can't. Harrison and Patrick want an explanation. 'Focus on doing the job you came here to do,' she reminds herself.

In Harrison's suite, he waves Bella and Patrick to the sitting area, and, removing his jacket and tie, offers Patrick the same freedom. He produces three bottles of water from the fridge, and then, placing them and a glass for Bella on the coffee table, sits down. "Are you okay?" he asks, pouring her drink, and when she utters a rasping, "yes," he and Patrick wait expectantly.

"You should know that Edward…Masen and I dated," she informs Patrick, and before he can respond, produces her phone, starts the video recording, and places it on the table. Bella pales, bile rising in her throat as she relives every gut-wrenching moment of Victoria's gloating. Harrison and Patrick's eyes widen almost comically before their faces harden into equally grim masks, and, except for Harrison's muttering of "fucking bitch," at Victoria's nonchalant dismissal of having drugged Edward, they remain silent; a state that lasts for moments after the recording ends.

Patrick speaks first. "Smart thinking, Bella, but we can't use this. California's recording law calls for two-party consent."

Bella, relieved to address the legal and not personal implications of the taping, produces a shadow of a smile. "I know, but I'm almost sure there's an exception covering places where conversations could easily be overheard. The ladies', I'm sure, meets that criteria," she informs the men.

"Brilliant!" Patrick beams.

"Besides, someone did overhear," she reveals.

"Wait—there was someone else there?" Harrison demands.

"Yes."

"And she _still_ said all of that?" he asks, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline.

"Victoria didn't know. The person was in one of the stalls, and she didn't check."

"Damn!" Patrick exclaims appreciatively. "How'd you know about the loophole?"

"Law school assignment. We'd have to check if I'm right, though," Bella answers.

"This changes everything in our negotiations," Harrison remarks.

"Only if it's legal," Patrick cautions.

"I wish we knew who that woman was," Harrison muses.

"We do," Bella says, and both men's eyes, wide, swing to her. "Her name's Krista, and she works in the promotions department."

"How…" Harrison asks, but she interrupts.

"I waited until Victoria left and then went back."

"Does Victoria know she heard?" Patrick asks.

"No. Krista had only just left the stall when I returned."

"Why the hell wouldn't she tell Victoria?"

"She was afraid of upsetting her. Apparently, people are," Bella explains, bitterness leaking into her voice.

"Will she cooperate with us?" Harrison asks.

"I don't know; I didn't check—sorry. I wanted to get back before you made a deal," Bella explains, her voice catching. Harrison pats her hand.

"You were incredible. Those masters are practically in the bag," he tells her.

"Thanks," she murmurs and, after taking a sip of water, continues. "Krista seemed pretty junior and scared of losing her job. She said she wouldn't tell anyone, but…who knows. Anyway, I don't know if she'll help us."

"We need to ask, but, first, we should tell Masen and Jasper what's happened."

"I don't think we should tell anyone other than Edward about Victoria's confession. _He_ should decide if and how he wants to use the information and who else to inform," Patrick asserts.

Bella immediately agrees, and Harrison, although he concedes, insists on checking the legality of the taping. "In case Krista refuses to cooperate," he points out, and Patrick, reaching for his phone, says he'll call a colleague, a criminal lawyer.

"You should also tell Masen," Harrison presses.

"Not over the phone," Patrick says, and Harrison, nodding, turns to Bella.

"Maybe you should tell him?" he suggests.

"No!" she exclaims, panicking at the thought of presenting Edward with the truth, of seeing his condemnation for not believing in him. Thankfully for Bella, Patrick insists that he, Edward's lawyer, should inform him. She, naturally, agrees and, after some debate, they collectively decide that Patrick should return to Philadelphia with them and that Harrison and Bella won't disclose Victoria's confession to anyone without Edward's consent.

Bella volunteers to book his seat and rearrange her and Harrison's flight while the men make their phone calls. With her task complete and to stop herself from thinking too deeply, she watches Harrison pace; his phone pressed to his ear. Across the room, Patrick, seated in an armchair, is also engrossed in conversation. From snippets of conversation, Bella can tell that Harrison's speaking with Jasper and Patrick, to his colleague.

Harrison hangs up and rejoins Bella. "How are you?" he asks.

"Fine," she tells him unconvincingly.

"It's okay not to be, you know; what you just learned is pretty fucked up. Was that why you broke up?"

"Yeah…" she answers, the word a shaky exhalation.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harrison offers, but Bella shakes her head.

"No…but thanks." She smiles weakly, reluctant to reveal that, right now, she doesn't even want to _think_ about the whole damned mess. Instead, she asks about his conversation with Jasper.

"He grew suspicious of my vague responses but agreed to meet tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully, Patrick would have spoken to Masen and agreed that we can tell Jasper by then," Harrison reveals. "Do you want to be there?"

"I don't know," Bella answers just as Patrick approaches.

"No pressure," Harrison assures her.

"You were right, Bella," Patrick says as he sits down.

"So we can use the recording?" Harrison clarifies.

"Yes. According to Vince, a washroom exchange constitutes a 'circumstance in which the parties could reasonably have expected their conversation to be overheard or recorded.' He quoted straight from the penal code," Patrick confirms.

Bella nods, thankful that her assumption's proven correct. The news doesn't lessen her guilt or regret, but she feels somewhat satisfied that, if nothing else, she's given Edward proof with which to confront Victoria.

Harrison isn't as quiet or circumspect in expressing his pleasure. He practically whoops and, out loud, starts planning how to use the evidence at their next meeting with Arrius.

" _If_ Edward agrees to use it," Patrick, again, cautions.

"Of course," Harrison concedes, and, soon after, Bella and Patrick leave to prepare for their departure. Their flight takes off around mid-afternoon and lands late that night.

Home in her apartment, unable to sleep, Bella torments herself with thoughts of Victoria's admission. In one moment, she blames herself for not believing in Edward, and, in the next, excuses herself with the reminder of how realistic the scene she'd encountered had appeared. That visual sickens her so much that she distracts herself by researching Texas law codes relating to illegal drugging.

Personally, Bella would love to see Victoria charged and jailed. 'But Patrick's right,' she thinks, 'only Edward should decide what to do.' And, knowing him the way she does, at least the old Edward, she's sure he'd also want Victoria charged. Sadly, she realizes, she no longer knows Edward and can't be sure what, given the risks a trial could have on his professional image, he'd do. Who, she wonders, will help him decide? Patrick and Eva, no doubt. Alice, perhaps, and Esme? She wonders about Carlisle—if he and Edward have reconciled their differences. The memory of Carlisle's cold treatment of Edward, his lack of faith in him, deepens Bella's self-recrimination. She goes to bed, where she tosses and turns for hours before, finally, succumbing to sleep.

The next day, she waits anxiously for word from Patrick until, just before lunch, Harrison invites her into his office. There, he activates his phone's speaker and tells Patrick to go ahead.

Patrick sighs deeply. "So, I told him this morning," he informs them.

"And?" Harrison questions at the same time that Bella asks, "How is he?"

"Shaken and mad as hell. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so angry. He broke a guitar."

Bella's heart aches. She'd witnessed Edward that angry before—many times, and almost every occasion had resulted from an altercation with Carlisle. Those confrontations invariably ended with Edward storming out, hurt and angry beyond words. Then, she'd calmed and comforted him. Who, she wonders, is doing that now?

"Did you ask what he wants to do?" Harrison pushes.

"Eventually," Patricks admits. "In fact, we only really talked about an hour ago."

"I thought you met this morning?" Harrison remarks.

"We did—at the recording studio," Patrick says and explains, how, after hurling his guitar across the room, Edward had left. Bella stifles the need to know where he'd gone. "He wasn't answering his phone, so I called Eva, hoping he'd speak to her."

"Did you tell her about Victoria?" Harrison asks.

"No; Edward and I hadn't agreed on anything."

"Did she reach him?" Bella interrupts.

"No; he called, asking me to meet him at his hotel. We discussed his legal options—"

"Did…" Harrison asks, but Patrick stops him.

"He wants to consider it," he says.

"What about Jasper; I'm meeting him soon?" Harrison asks, and this time, Bella answers.

"Edward's just had shocking news. He needs time to process," she says, her voice determined.

"I know, but…"

"Tell Jasper Arrius refused our offer. _That's_ what happened, isn't it?" Bella challenges, and Harrison sighs, a sound of resignation.

"You're right; the man deserves time to think," he concedes, and shortly after, they finish their conversation with Patrick promising to call as soon as Edward instructs him.

"What?" Bella demands, feeling uncomfortable under Harrison's prolonged gaze.

"You know you're going to have to speak to him, don't you?"

"Jasper?" she asks, pretending ignorance.

"You know who I mean, Swan. I don't know what happened between you and Masen, but it's obvious you're torturing yourself. Stop being a martyr and talk to the man!"

Bella doesn't respond. Harrison's words, however, have touched a nerve. She knows she owes Edward an apology—so much more, in fact; she just isn't ready to face him yet.

Later that day, Lia, who'd grown curious about Bella and Harrison avoiding questions about their LA trip, confronts Bella. "What's going on?" she asks.

"Nothing, just Arrius playing games," Bella informs her.

"Don't make me call bullshit on you," Lia challenges.

"I can't tell you, but I will as soon as I can," Bella promises, wishing more than anything that she could confide in her friend.

Lia, sensing Bella's distress doesn't push. Instead, she pulls her into a comforting hug. "Whenever you're ready," she assures her.

By Friday night, alone in her apartment, the need to unburden herself weighs heavily on Bella. After another restless night, she decides that there is one person she can speak to without betraying Patrick's trust.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Renee asks, tearing up after Bella relates the events in Dallas and how, subsequently, she'd broken up with Edward.

"It was too painful, Mum," she explains.

"Bella, I'm your mother; I should have been there for you." Renee becomes emotional again, but, in the next moment, her mouth tightens in disapproval. "I knew you two didn't suddenly decide that you weren't right for each other. I just can't believe Edward would do something like that!"

"That's just the thing…"Bella hesitates, taking a deep breath, warding off as another wave of remorse. "He didn't."

"What do you mean—he didn't?" Renee demands.

"He didn't cheat."

"But —" Renee starts to question her, but Bella cuts her off.

"I can't share the details, Mum, but Edward didn't do anything with that woman."

"I don't understand…are you _sure_?"

"Positive."

"How long have you known this?"

"A few days."

"Oh, sweetie…all that wasted time. You and Edward need to fix this. Did you call him?"

"Umm, no," Bella answers guiltily.

"Why not?"

"I don't think either of us is ready to talk, Mum."

"Well, you have to. Call him—or fly to LA next weekend," Renee eagerly suggests.

"He lives in New York now. In fact, he's one of our clients," Bella confesses.

Renee gapes. "Isabella Swan!" she admonishes. "What else have you kept hidden? Since when's Edward been your client?"

"Not long, and he's not my client," Bella answers defensively.

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Did you talk?"

"Hardly."

"Why not?"

"I already told you…"

"I know what you said, Bella. I also know why you're suddenly telling me all this. I'm happy you did, but I'm not going to tell you what to do. You already know what you need and _want_ to do; you're just too stubborn to admit it."

Bella doesn't argue, and Renee, believing she'd said enough, at least to get them to talk, drops the subject.

 **. . . . .**

Edward hasn't felt this exhilarated in years. Playing with Jake again feels as comfortable as slipping on a pair of old shoes. They'd caught up the night of the Sigel signing and, when Edward learned that Jake was between gigs, he'd offered him a spot as a session musician. A week later, he'd introduced Jake to Steve and Dix, and a week after that Jake had secured his place as rhythm guitarist. Soon after, Edward and Steve chose a bassist, Ricky Johnson, who'd played and toured with several legends, and Jay Gordon, a drummer to complete his trio of core backing musicians. Others, depending on the song, came and went as required.

After weeks of rehearsal, their music sounds tight but still, individually and collectively, they make new and exciting discoveries—a new riff, a changed chord, a nuance in Edward's phrasing of a song line—that enhances the take and adds to the live feel he'd envisioned from the start. He'd wanted this album, both the experience and the end product, to be as different as possible from the one before.

"I don't want to overwork and suck the life out of any of the songs," he'd told Steve. Consequently, Steve had suggested that, for several of the songs, rather than lay down each instrument separately, they record with the full line up of musicians. Edward had enthusiastically embraced the idea, and unlike his first two albums when he'd known little about the finer details of the process, or the third when he'd felt disillusioned, this time, he's working alongside Steve and the sound engineer on every production aspect. Essentially, he's co-producing. That, coupled with his drug-free life, his familiarity with Jake's playing, and Ricky and Jay's vast experience, all adds to Edward's high spirits.

They're enjoying a well-earned break when his phone rings. Seeing that it's Patrick and expecting an update on their meeting with Arrius, Edward leaves the room to take the call in private. He's unsurprised when learning that Mitch had rejected their offer. He does, however, wonder why Patrick's traveling to Philadelphia to 'inform him of other details.' "Just tell me now," Edward suggests.

"I'd rather do it in person," Patrick insists despite Edward reminding him that he's in the middle of recording.

"Can't it wait a couple of days…until Monday?"

"Sorry, but no," his lawyer remains adamant, and Edward, knowing Patrick wouldn't push if it weren't important, capitulates.

"Okay, but it will have to be at the studios," he agrees and confirms the address and a time, half an hour before the start of recording the next day, before hanging up. Although still curious about Patrick's avoidance tactics, he soon loses himself in his music.

Edward's tuning his guitar when Patrick arrives, punctually as always but, Edward notes when greeting him, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He watches him sit on the sofa and fidget, first with his tie and then the cuff of his shirt before he looks up and clears his throat.

"So, the meeting went as expected. "Bella, however, uncovered some shocking information," Patrick says.

Edward's breath catches. "Bella was there?" he asks.

"Yes, and while there, a woman called Victoria confronted her."

"What the fuck did she want?" Edward demands, and Patrick, instead of answering, plays the video. Edward's face pales when Victoria taunts Bella about playing into her hands. He grows angrier and angrier as she reveals the extent of her deception. By the time Victoria admits to drugging him, Edward's incandescent with rage. A sound, somewhere between a growl and a wail, bursts through his clenched teeth, and, suddenly, he jumps to his feet. The guitar, leaning against a chair, falls. He grabs it and smashes it against the back of the sofa, over and over, his breaths coming in rasping gasps, before, with a sound of disgust, he hurls it across the room and storms out. Patrick, shocked into silence, waits in vain for his return.

Outside, Edward sucks in great gulps of air, a useless attempt to dispel the red haze from his brain. He wanders the streets, ignoring his vibrating phone until his mind clears enough to remember the musicians waiting for him. He texts Steve, explaining that 'something's come up' and that he'd be back in the studio on Monday. He returns to his hotel, still furious, his mind filled with thoughts of wrapping his hands around Victoria's throat and squeezing until she's gasping for breath. The thought of just how vulnerable he'd been, how much worse it could have been, fuels his thoughts. Not that he'd resort to violence, especially against a woman; but, still, imagining it eases his anger and humiliation.

Edward opens the fridge and, seeing the alcohol-free contents, for the first time in months, seriously considers ordering a drink. 'Just one,' that errant part of his brain promises, but the greater part, the part that reminds him where even one shot in his current frame of mind can lead, wins out. Grabbing a bottle of water, he picks up his phone.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" he greets Alex.

"Not at all. I have an hour before I need to leave for work. How are you?" she asks.

"Fucking awful," he tells her and relates the contents of the tape.

"I'm sorry you were victimized like that, Edward. You didn't deserve it," she says when he stops talking.

"I was stupid to trust her," he responds bitterly.

"You were _not_ ," Alex argues. "The woman was a senior employee at your record company. No one can fault you for trusting her.

"Jesus, Alex, I had sex with her!" he spits, his voice filled with disgust.

"Did you suspect she was capable of stooping that low—of drugging someone?"

"Did you?" she prods when he hesitates.

"No, but…"

"Edward, I'm sure the people who hired and worked with her for years didn't. So, how could you?"

"You're right, but I knew she could be a bitch."

"Lots of women are, but that doesn't mean they'd commit a crime. You realize that's what she did, don't you?"

"Of course, I do! I'm so fucking mad; I don't know what to do with myself," Edward answers, his voice raised in frustration. "I nearly had a drink," he confesses after a moment's silence.

"Did you?" Alex asks.

"No."

"You're stronger than you think, Edward. Don't let Victoria spoil your life again. You should talk to Dan."

"I'll make an appointment today."

"Good. You can talk to me anytime; you know that, but I can't give you professional advice. Dan's your therapist."

"Thanks for listening anyway."

"You don't have to thank me, Edward—ever."

Alex asks what, if anything, he plans to do about Victoria. "I need to talk to Patrick," he tells her. She asks about his recording then, subtly reminding him of the future he'd worked so hard to regain. By the end of their conversation, nearly half an hour later, Edward feels marginally better. He's still angry, but instead of the emotion raging uncontrollably, it's subsided to a controlled burn. He answers Eva's numerous messages by informing her that he's okay and will contact her later. He texts Patrick, asking him to meet at the hotel, and, finally, sends a message to Alice, inviting her to spend the weekend in New York.

Forty-five minutes later, Patrick arrives and, when Edward asks about the legal implications of Victoria's confession, advises that under Texas law and based on her own admission, she committed either an aggravated or simple assault. "The difference is that aggravated assault is deemed a felony and the other, a misdemeanor. Felonies, naturally, attract more severe penalties.

"Assaults are defined as acts where someone intentionally, knowingly, or recklessly causes bodily harm, or threatens someone with imminent injury, or intentionally and knowingly causes physical contact when he or she knows or should reasonably believe the other will regard the contact as offensive or provocative."

"Which would apply to Victoria?" Edward asks.

"The main difference between aggravated and simple assaults is that in an aggravated assault a person used or threatened another with a deadly weapon. According to Vince, the criminal lawyer, I consulted, Rohypnol, which she likely used, is illegal and classed as a dangerous substance. Any other powerful sedative, used in those circumstances, he believes, could be categorized the same."

A protracted silence follows before Edward speaks. "I'm not sure what to do," he confesses.

"Statutes of limitation may dictate your decision, Edward. The term for simple assaults is two years, and for aggravated, it's three. However, there is a loophole, which could apply. Apparently, an exception exists if the perpetrator isn't a Texas resident.

"There's a lot to consider before taking legal action. If the charge is reduced to a misdemeanor, she'll probably get off with a fine. My advice is that you examine your options carefully and, if you decide to pursue charges, you discuss the PR implications with Eva before you act. And, if you still wish to proceed, you should also consult your family and Jasper.

"There is a way to gain immediate retribution," he continues, and when Edward asks, explains how, by disclosing the contents of the video to Arrius, he could secure ownership of his master recordings _and_ destroy Victoria's career. "We could probably get away without paying a cent, and the split deal with Sigel wouldn't be necessary."

Edward nods, his lips turning up in the briefest smile. "Who else knows about the tape?" he asks.

"Other than us; Harrison and Bella. I've asked them not to discuss it with anyone, not even Jasper, until I tell them."

"And they agreed?" Edward can't hide his surprise.

"They did," Patrick confirms and, seeing Edward's skepticism, elaborates. "Well, Harrison argued, but Bella insisted that you should decide who to tell."

An indefinable expression crosses Edward's face before he thanks Patrick. "I need time to think before I decide what to do," he tells him. Patrick departs soon after.

The following morning, Friday, Edward returns to New York and, that afternoon, meets with his therapist. Dan, when learning about Victoria, repeats many of Alex's comments. He, however, probes deeper, revisiting the events in Dallas, the breakup with Bella, and the aftermath—what Edward thought, felt, and did then, and how he feels now, knowing the truth.

"I hate her, and I want her to pay," Edward says about Victoria and explains Patrick's legal advice. "I don't know," he answers when Dan asks about pressing charges. "First, we'd need to resolve the statute of limitations matter, and, if we can press charges, she could get off with a slap on the wrist and a fine. Imagine if the tabloids get hold of the story? It'll haunt me for the rest of my life—my music; everything else will take a back seat to the speculation about me having been sexually molested. It won't matter that nothing happened!" He exhales an angry, frustrated breath.

"Those are all valid concerns. The woman's cost you a lot; why should you let her take even more from you?" Dan reasons.

He questions Edward about Bella next. "You were angry with her. Do you still feel that way?"

It takes Edward a while to respond, and when he does, it's hesitant. "I didn't want to be angry at her…I didn't feel justified. I still don't, especially now that I know the truth. Bella's as much a victim as I am. I should thank her for taping that conversation. I just…" he huffs a breath, averting his eyes before looking back at Dan.

"I don't want to give her the chance to reject me again," he admits.

"Do you still love her?"

"No…I don't know. I still have feelings; I just don't know what they are."

"You'll never know, and you'll never really move on if you don't talk to her, Edward. Think about it," Dan tells him, and he does, all of that night. By the early hours of Saturday morning, he'd resolved that he would, at least, thank Bella for taping Victoria.

On Saturday, when Alice learns the news, she's understandably incensed. "That bitch!" she fumes, and Edward can't help smiling because, unlike him, Alice rarely swears. She's keen to have Victoria arrested, even when Edward explains that the statute of limitation has run out. "There's a chance, though, with the exception, isn't there?" Alice insists.

"I'm not sure if it will be worth it if she gets off," he tells her and explains the potential media nightmare if news of the case leaks.

"So she just gets away with it?"

"I haven't decided. I want to find out exactly what the chances of winning are before I do. There is a way to make her pay without going to court," Edward reveals and explains the plan to gain ownership of his recordings. "Arrius will fire her and will, no doubt, make sure she never works in the industry again."

"Hardly enough punishment," Alice grumbles.

"I know, but she'll feel it. Victoria loves her job and the industry. She hopes to become head of A&R either at Arrius or somewhere else one day," Edward reveals. Alice's expression lights up and then, almost immediately, looks sheepish.

"It's better than nothing," Edward appeases.

"I know," she says, still uncomfortable.

"What?" he demands.

"I feel bad," she admits and reveals her exchange with Bella and her friends.

Edward bows his head, sighs and runs both hands through his hair before looking up at his sister. "Alice," he reprimands. "I appreciate— _love_ —your loyalty, but I wish you hadn't said those things to Bella."

"Why not? It's the truth!" Alice gets defensive.

"Maybe, but it wasn't your place to say them. You didn't see what Bella did; you didn't hear the tape. Victoria set her up too!"

"But she should have believed you; she should have listened!" Alice protests, her voice cracking. "If she had, you wouldn't have ended up in hospital. You could have died, Edward," she sobs, tears leaking from her eyes.

Edward stands and wraps his arms around her. "Shrimp, it's not Bella's fault that I ended up there. It's mine."

"You're not happy!" Alice sniffs. "I want you to be happy."

"You're not responsible for my happiness; nor is Bella. I am, and I'm working on it."

"Is that what your therapist told you?" she asks, and he smiles.

"Yeah. Alex and Dan both, but it's the truth. They generally make me face the truth," he admits.

"You like Alex, don't you?" Alice asks hopefully.

"I do, but don't go matchmaking, Shrimp; we're just friends."

"Friends fall in love," she retorts and apologizes immediately when seeing his grimace. "I didn't mean it like that," she tells him.

"I know. Now, enough of the bad shit; how about lunch at Claros?"

On Sunday, after Alice leaves, Edward calls Eva and fills her in on recent events. He asks her to travel to Philadelphia to attend a strategy meeting with Patrick the following evening. He phones Patrick with the same request. "Do you think your friend, Nick, could attend?" he asks.

"I'm sure he could," Patrick confirms. "If not, another partner will be able to."

"Good; I want to know exactly what our chances of winning a case against Victoria are," Edward informs him.

"What about Harrison and Bella? Are you ready to tell them anything?" Patrick asks.

"Yes; tell them I want to proceed with the plan for Arrius."

"So, they can tell Jasper?"

"I'll call him now," Edward says.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **A word of caution: I spent quite some time researching the legislation mentioned in this chapter. I do warn, however, that due to the lack of or difficulty in accessing specific information, my investigations, weren't as exhaustive as I would have liked.**

 **Whether you celebrate Easter or not; I hope you had a good break :)**

 **A warm welcome to new readers, and thank you to anyone who've chosen to follow or favorite Unplugged (or me) since the lasting posting. To my longtime and loyal readers, thanks most sincerely for your ongoing support.**

 **And finally, I've rushed through editing of this chapter and apologize for any undetected mistakes. I'll be busy over the next day or two and didn't want to hold it back.**

 **Shenda x**


	25. Chapter 25

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty-Three**

Edward ends his call feeling irate. Rationally, he knows his feelings are unjustified. Jasper had said and done everything he could have wished for. He'd expressed outrage at Victoria's actions, he'd offered his personal and business support and endorsed the plan to present the evidence to Arrius, but Edward had grown increasingly agitated throughout their conversation. He hates what happened, hates the humiliation he feels, and absolutely detests sharing his shame with others. Telling Alex, Alice, and Eva had mortified him, but his relationships with them are different. Alex knows more about him than anyone else; confiding in her, although uncomfortable had seemed natural, and Alice, Edward has learned, loves him unconditionally. And Eva? Well, to Edward, she's become a trusted business associate and friend. Her views on Victoria's actions are mostly unprintable.

Telling Jasper, however, someone Edward had hoped to forge a new and equal business partnership with, a person he shares a mutual admiration with, had been particularly galling. The fact that soon, he'll have to tell yet another person, a stranger, agitates him further. To escape his troubled thoughts, Edward retreats his studio.

The next morning, he returns to Philadelphia, and after a day's recording, the meeting with Vince Tanner takes place. In Edward's hotel suite, the lawyer, a former prosecutor, listens to and then extensively questions his account of that night in Dallas. Nearly an hour later, when Vince prepares to share his thoughts, Edward stops him. "Wait for the others," he advises, the words barely leaving his mouth before the door buzzer announces Eva and Patrick's arrival. Less than five minutes later, Alice shows up.

With introductions made, they settle down to listen. Vince addresses Edward. "Based on her confession and your description of events, it's reasonable to assume that Victoria spiked your drink, probably with Rohypnol or another depressant such as GHB or Ketamine. Rohypnol, as you probably know, is illegal in the U.S. So is, GHB, except in the form of a specific prescription drug. These so-called 'date rape' drugs are considered a weapon; just possession can carry a jail sentence. In Texas, along with drugs such as opium, cocaine, and heroin, they're categorized as Penalty Group I substances. Manufacturing or delivering a dose as small as one milligram is a felony, carrying a one-hundred-and-eighty-day to two-year jail term and fines up to ten thousand dollars."

"So she could be charged?" Alice asks hopefully.

"Potentially, yes, with aggravated assault or aggravated sexual assault," Vince confirms.

"Nothing sexual happened. She said so herself," Edward objects, his voice tight and angry.

"We know that, but still, when Rohypnol's involved, many prosecutors choose to lay sexual assault charges."

"Why?" Eva asks.

"Because, in many cases, the courts reduce charges," Vince explains and then, noting Edward's thunderous expression, quickly changes tack. "I know Patrick's already covered a lot of this, but perhaps I should explain the different assault charges?" he offers, and, when Edward nods, continues.

"An assault is committed when someone intentionally or carelessly causes another person bodily harm or threatens that person, or intentionally causes physical contact when knowing or reasonably believing the person would regard it as offensive or provocative.

"Assaults are classified depending on the circumstances, or the level of force used and are termed either a simple or aggravated assault. The difference, essentially, is that an aggravated assault involves the use of a deadly weapon, and Rohypnol, as I explained, under US law, is considered a weapon. Just giving an unsuspecting person a date rape drug can be enough to result in an aggravated sexual assault charge. So, what Victoria did could be ruled either a simple or aggravated assault or a sexual or aggravated sexual assault. "

Agitated, Edward jumps up and strides across the room to the window and stares unseeingly into the darkening night. His hands are plunged deep into his jeans pockets, and a nerve in his jaw ticks as he battles his emotions. Alice joins her brother, who ignores her presence until she tugs at his sleeve. "He's only doing his job," she reasons.

Edward exhales a frustrated breath. "I know. I'm just…I thought I got rid of all the shit in my life," he explains.

"You have. This is just the dregs." Alice wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes hard. "Don't give up now," she whispers. Edward acknowledges her plea by returning her embrace.

"What can I do to help?" she asks.

"You're doing it," he assures her.

Across the room, Patrick, with a troubled eye on his client, addresses Vince. "You understand, don't you, why Edward doesn't want or need even a whiff of sexual assault linked to his name?" he asks.

"I do," Vince answers, but Eva interrupts.

"You may understand, but I don't know if you _get_ it," she says. "The tabloids won't give a damn if he was sexually molested or not. If even a hint gets out, that's the story they'll spin. That's the story that will follow him for the rest of his career!"

"I do know," Vince counters.

Eva huffs, but before she can challenge him, Edward and Alice return. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"Edward, even if nothing sexual happened, you need to have all the information so you can make an informed decision," Vice says, glancing pointedly at Eva.

"I know; I'm frustrated, that's all. So, Victoria can be charged?" Edward asks.

" _Potentially_ , but it's not a clear-cut case. Far from it, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Edward demands. "She confessed."

"Yes, but it's not enough—not without corroborating evidence. Victoria could simply claim she lied to get at Bella," Vince explains.

"But it's clear she drugged Edward," Alice protests.

"I agree, but we can't prove it," Vince counters.

"What about the girl, Maggie?" Eva interjects. "Could the police find her?"

" _If_ they investigate, and for them to do that, Edward would need to press charges. I'm not sure he should do that," Patrick answers and suggests that Vince explains.

"Without supporting evidence, we can't be sure if charges will be laid or, if they are, what they'll be, or if they'll stick. We have to prepare ourselves for the fact that if Edward takes legal action, no matter what happens, the story will leak. We also need to accept the genuine possibility that the charge could be reduced to a Class C Misdemeanor. If that happens, Victoria would probably get off with a slap on the wrist and a five hundred dollar fine.

"We… _you_ ," he tells Edward, "need to understand and consider the worst-case scenarios, both legally, and any negative impact on your image before you decide to press charges."

Edward's eyes cloud with uncertainty. "I…fuck!" he curses, tugging at the hair at his neck. "I want to know everything; why the hell she'd do something like that. I want her to pay, but—" He exhales loudly, looks at his team of trusted advisers. "What do you think?" he asks.

"It's not up to us," Patrick answers, but Eva interjects.

"We're here because Edward wants advice." She looks at him for confirmation, and when he nods, continues. "Personally, I want Victoria jailed, but I don't want one more bad thing to happen to Edward because of her. _If_ he presses charges, the story will leak, and when it does, the shit will hit the fan. I'd do everything in my power to counter the tabloids, but we all know that some dirt will stick. Honestly, based on what Vince has said, I don't think it's worth it. Her career is the most important thing to Victoria. Losing it would gut her. It's barely enough, Edward, but, if you want to protect your career and privacy, you may have to settle for that."

"Eva's right," Alice breaks the short silence. "You can't let her take anything more from you."

"If you want more information, we could hire a PI to find Maggie," Patrick suggests. Vince agrees, clarifying that gaining more information doesn't force Edward's hand about pressing charges.

"What about statutes of limitation?" Patrick asks.

"Two years for assault and three years for aggravated assault. Limitations don't run if the accused isn't in the state, so that's not a concern. The clock starts ticking from the date he or she returns to Texas. "

"I'd like a day or two to consider everything. I'll call if I have any questions," Edward tells Vince, who leaves shortly after.

"Could we meet again tomorrow?" he asks the others.

"Sure," Patrick answers. "I'm meeting Harrison tomorrow. Are you still okay with the plans for Arrius?"

"Yes. Have you checked with Vince?"

"I have. He's also agreed to accompany us," Patrick confirms.

"Great. Let's discuss it tomorrow," Edward tells both him and Eva. Soon, they also leave, and only Alice remains.

"Have you eaten?" Edward asks her.

"Not since lunchtime."

"Want me to order something?"

"That would be great," Alice smiles, and, after scanning the room service menu, they both settle on a burger. "Daphne's fried chicken would have been even better," she reminisces while they eat. "Do you keep in touch?"

"Mmm," Edward answers around a mouthful of food, and when he swallows, elaborates. "I want to invite them to visit."

"Really? When? I'd love to see them."

"In a week or so, when I can take a break from the studio."

"Met me know."

"I will," Edward promises, and they fall into silence, each lost in their thoughts until Alice speaks. "Have you considered telling Mom what's going on?" she asks.

"No, and I don't want to," Edward tells her.

"Why not?"

"We've discussed this, Shrimp."

"She won't tell Dad if you ask her not to," she argues.

"That's just it—I don't want to ask her to lie to her husband."

Alice looks crestfallen. "Are you and Dad ever going to settle your differences?"

"I don't think so, not after all this time. I don't even know if I want to. Now, can we drop it, please? I have enough crap to deal with."

"Sure. Sorry I mentioned it."

"I know it's hard on you, Alice. _I'm_ sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. Tell me about recording today. Do you think I could watch sometime?"

"Of course. Just let me know when you can."

Alice grins her delight. "I'd better go. I have reading to catch up on," she says and starts clearing their plates.

"Leave it. I'll call room service," Edward stops her and insists on accompanying her downstairs. There, when the valet returns her car, they hug and part ways. Back in his room, he ponders Vince's advice. An hour later, still undecided, he calls Alex and, after ten or so minutes of casual conversation, tells her about his meeting. "I've thought and thought, and I still don't know what to do," he admits.

"What do you want? More than anything?" Alex asks.

"I want to know that no one touched me without my permission, and I want to forget the whole fucking mess," he answers immediately.

"What about Victoria?"

Edward sighs. "If it were just me, I'd say to hell with it and go to the cops, but it isn't. I have to think about Alice. She's been so great, even after everything I've put her through; also my stepmother and…" He stops, suppressing his next thought because, despite not wanting to, Edward's also worried about Bella; wondering what she'd want to do about Victoria and how adverse publicity about a potential court case would affect her. He needs to thank her for recording Victoria, he knows, and plans on doing that, but he's not ready to acknowledge any of his other feelings.

"What about Eva, Jasper, Jake and the other guys who've shown faith in me and are counting on this new album? If the shit about Victoria gets out, it will suffer," he says instead, a note of determination creeping into his voice.

"Sounds like you know what you're going to do," Alex comments.

"Yeah," he answers, acknowledging her perceptiveness with a soft snort.

"You know, Edward, not pressing charges isn't a sign of weakness."

"I've told myself that a thousand times. It hasn't worked. **"**

"Well, it's the truth, so keep telling yourself. Maybe when you find the woman, Maggie, and satisfy yourself that nothing sexual happened you'll feel better."

"Maybe," he agrees.

 **. . . . .**

Edward makes several decisions after that phone call. He resolves to hire an investigator to find Maggie; he decides to secure the master recordings for all of his music produced through Arrius, and more importantly, he determines not to pay them a cent if he can help it. "I hope you and Vince can find a way to achieve that," he tells Patrick the following night when sharing thoughts.

Patrick asks about Harrison, and Edward informs him that, despite the changed plans for negotiating with Arrius, Jasper's offered his legal team's help. "You guys sort it out," he suggests before addressing Eva. "We should probably officially appoint Vince," he tells her.

Eva agrees, and Edward asks Patrick about an investigator.

"Vince will know someone," he assures Edward and, the next day, calls to confirm that Vince does, indeed, know a private investigator, an ex-detective, who's worked for him in the past. After receiving assurances that the man, Jack Kent, is discreet and, apparently, one of the best in his field, Edward agrees to hire him.

Feeling that he's regained some control of his life, Edward concentrates on his album. His lawyers, meanwhile, formulate plans to secure his master recordings. A week after his engagement, Jack reports back through Vince. The information, however, isn't about Maggie as Edward had hoped but Victoria. "He's following a lead;a good one," Patrick assures Edward when he voices his disappointment. "The news about Victoria, though, will help in dealing in dealing with Arrius."

Patrick explains that Victoria and James Nelson had, until just five months ago, been married. Edward fumes when hearing this. He and his fellow musician hadn't been firm friends, but they'd shared a professional rapport. 'Until the collaboration,' Edward thinks sourly. He refuses to contemplate the other influences he'd stupidly allowed James to have on his life.

Edward listens, still seething and castigating himself as Vince continues. Jack, he reveals, located two of Victoria's past assistants. One, a male, still works at another label that had, reportedly, sacked Victoria for misconduct, and the other, a female ex-employee of Arrius, have related incidents of Victoria sexually preying on young, hopeful musicians.

Their information, Patrick assures Edward, is the additional leverage they need to secure his master recordings. Two days later when he, Patrick, and Harrison make a conference call to Vince, the lawyers all agree.

"They're expecting a counter offer; it just won't be what they imagined," Harrison announces almost gleefully.

"I'm sure neither Aro nor Mitch knew about or condoned Victoria's behavior, so I don't understand how we can claim negligence. Also, I don't want to be accused of blackmail," Edward asserts.

"It's leverage, not blackmail," Patrick argues, sounding as pleased as Harrison.

"Vince?" Edward checks.

"I think you're worried about a law called 'respondent superior,' which, loosely translated, means 'let the superior answer.' Under that law, an employer can only be held accountable if the employee acts within company guidelines. For instance, if a crane driver, following company safety regulations, injures a bystander.

"There is another law, however, one that covers negligent hiring, retention, or supervision of employees. The ruling applies even to what an employee does outside the scope of their employment. The employer, however, can only be held liable if they acted carelessly. In other words, if they knew or _should have_ known an employee or potential employee was unfit for the job. With Arrius, we'd argue that, had they acted responsibly and conducted thorough checks before and after hiring her, they should have uncovered Victoria's misconduct."

Satisfied, Edward concedes, and the conversation moves on to who should attend and when they should meet with Arrius. Edward's breath hitches when Harrison mentions Bella. He listens but doesn't comment when the lawyers debate her attendance. "They'll get suspicious if we change the players," Harrison argues with Vince. "She's personally involved; she shouldn't attend," Vince remains adamant.

"Vince should be there," Patrick suggests and, finally, after discussing the advantages of having a criminal lawyer present, they all agree. Patrick volunteers to arrange the meeting and after ensuring that Edward's happy with the outcome, ends the call.

Two weeks later, he, Harrison, and Vince enter Arrius' meeting room, where Mitch and his team of lawyers are waiting. "No Bella?" Mitch asks when greeting them? "I didn't realize who she is until after you'd left. I see, now, why Masen signed with Sigel; or is it the other way round? Is she there because of him?"

"Bella's dealing with another client." Harrison ignores the personal comments, thanking Mitch for agreeing to the meeting instead.

"No problem. I assume you have an offer for us?" Mitch answers, motioning for everyone to sit.

"We have," Harrison confirms and then, evidently surprising Mitch, defers to Patrick, who looks Mitch straight in the eye.

"My client wants the rights to all of his music—" he says and, almost immediately, smiles ranging from expectant to smug appear on the Arrius team's faces. Mitch, his voice bordering on condescending, interrupts, stating what a great deal Masen and Sigel are getting. "We could have demanded a lot more," he adds, and his lawyers', their heads bobbing like marionettes, agree.

"And he won't be paying a cent," Patrick calmly finishes his sentence.

Randy scoffs. "You seem to have forgotten that we didn't ask for, nor do we need this deal. "

"That may well have been the case," Vince responds this time. "If you hadn't been negligent in your obligations toward Mr. Cullen."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mitch bristles.

Vince reaches into his jacket and produces his phone, lays it on the table, and, glancing at the Arrius lawyers, asks, "Are you sure you want everyone to hear this?" He echoes Mitch's earlier patronizing tone.

Mitch, looking fit to explode, signals Randy, who asks his minions to leave. When the door shuts behind them, Mitch speaks, his voice threatening. "I don't know what game—" he says, stopping mid-sentence when hearing Victoria's voice. The Arrius exec's face, flushed with anger only seconds ago, pales. He's rattled, it's clear, but, by the end of Victoria's confession, recovers enough to accuse Patrick, Harrison, and Bella of fabricating the tape. "She'd never do something so reckless!" he asserts.

"Not reckless, criminal," Harrison points out.

Randy reminds them of California's invasion of privacy laws. "All parties need to consent, and I doubt that Ms. Jones agreed to recording this _alleged_ conversation," he says.

"Unless it excludes a communication made in a public gathering, or any place where the parties to the communication may reasonably expect to be overheard or recorded—California Penal code; 632 section C," Vince quotes. "The ladies restroom, you'd have to agree, fits the description."

He addresses Mitch next. "You should also know that another of your employees overheard the conversation."

"Who?" Mitch demands.

"We're not ready to reveal that— _yet_ ," Vince answers.

Randy scowls, ready to argue, but Vince interjects. "I assure you, the person exists and has agreed to testify, should we need her to. Also, before you protest your company's liability, I suggest you familiarize yourself with the laws surrounding negligent hiring because Ms. Jones has a track record of professional misconduct before _and_ during her time at Arrius; something you would have uncovered if you'd acted responsibly."

Mitch makes an outraged sound, but before he can speak, Vince, again, interrupts. "Sunrise Records fired her for misconduct, including sexual harassment. If you'd performed adequate checks, you would have known that.

"And then, while in your employ, Ms. Jones, an ex-assistant of hers alleges, harassed artists. She's signed an affidavit and is also prepared to testify." Mitch and Randy are shocked, but Vince continues.

"Did you know about her relationship with James Nelson—that he and she were married until just months ago? Were you aware of their relationship when you signed him? When she manipulated our client into collaborating with her husband? So you see, our case for negligent hiring is strong.

"And that's not all, your employee, the person you entrusted with Mr. Cullen's career, drugged him. He wants justice and intends laying charges against Ms. Jones. He's willing, however, to settle his grievances with Arrius out of court." Vince nods at Patrick, who, producing a stack of paper, slides it across the table.

"Our proposal and transcripts of the videotape. Our client wants the matter settled quickly. We expect to hear from you within a week," he finishes and stands, quickly followed by Harrison and Patrick. Without another word, the trio leaves a stunned Mitch and Randy behind.

Randy opens his mouth, no doubt to impart legal advice, but Mitch, furious, silences him with a wave of the hand. He strides across the room, lifts the internal phone and, when Ann answers, practically bellows at her to find and send in Victoria.

Fifteen minutes pass, during which he and Randy scan Patrick's document. "Proposal, my ass; this is a demand!" Mitch tosses it aside and picks up the transcript instead, but reading Victoria's confession only heightens his aggravation. He paces. "Do you think they're bluffing?" he asks Randy.

"Vince Tanner has a formidable reputation, most of it gained as an LA County DA. I doubt he'd pull a stunt like that."

Mitch curses out loud just as Victoria enters. The sight of her smiling face tips him over the edge. "Sit," he barks and shoves a copy of the transcript under her nose. He and Randy watch each expression as, first, Victoria, puzzled by Mitch's attitude, scrunches her brow; how, as she reads, her eyes widen, and her mouth slackens in surprise, and then, just before she looks up at Mitch, she determinedly tightens her lips.

"What's this?" she asks.

"Why don't you tell us," Mitch snaps.

"Someone made this up; it must be a joke," she laughs, trying to brazen it out.

"Did you or didn't you have a conversation with Bella Swan some weeks ago?" Randy asks.

"Bella Swan? You mean Masen's ex-girlfriend?" Victoria counters, and then, seeing Mitch's angry expression, adds, "In the washroom. We barely spoke."

"So this exchange between you and Ms. Swan, _Sigel's lawyer_ ," Randy waves a second copy of the transcript at her," didn't take place?"

Victoria blanches when hearing Bella's occupation, but quickly denies the content of the transcript. "I already told you; I don't know what that's about," she says.

"Bullshit!" Mitch counters. "She taped you, Victoria. We heard the recording."

"That's illegal!" she protests.

"Apparently not! Anyway, that's not the issue, is it?" Mitch answers coldly. "You drugged Masen? Why the hell would you do that?"

"I didn't! "

"You admitted it on tape," Randy points out.

"I lied…to get at her."

"Why? Why would you admit to a crime just to upset Ms. Swan?" Randy pushes, but Mitch interrupts.

"Were you married to James Nelson?" he demands, and Victoria blanches.

"I...we're divorced."

"When did you get divorced?"

"A while ago."

"When?" Mitch demands, his voice unyielding.

She huffs. "About six months ago, and just so you know, we haven't lived together for years. I didn't think it mattered."

"Of _course_ it matters!" Mitch roars. "You're supposed to declare potential areas of conflict! You should have revealed your relationship before you suggested we sign him, and _definitely_ before you pushed for the collaboration with Masen!

"Worse still, you've admitted a crime. Masen will probably lay charges against you; potentially against Arrius. If it turns out to be true, you'll be lucky if Aro doesn't sue you. As of this minute, you're suspended until we get to the truth. You are not to contact any Arrius clients, potential clients, or employees. You are not to represent this company in any capacity until further notice. Is that clear?

"Is that clear?" he raises his voice when she doesn't answer.

Pale and trembling, Victoria nods. Mitch uses the internal phone again, this time to call the head of personnel. "I'll brief you shortly. For now, you need to know that Victoria Jones is on mandatory leave. I need you and a security guard to accompany her to her office to gather her things and then escort her out of the building. Make sure she doesn't take her laptop or any other company property."

 **. . . . .**

Meanwhile, in Philadelphia, Bella, feeling on edge, is sharing a coffee break with Lia. She understands perfectly why she isn't at the Arrius meeting. She'd agreed with the decision, and yet she feels cheated, robbed of the chance to participate in the breakthrough in negotiations, and of the opportunity, no matter how small, to witness Victoria's downfall. "When did I get so vindictive?" she wonders out loud after sharing her feeling with her friend.

Lia emits an unladylike snort. " You were a saint. I would have ripped her hair out," she says, and Bella, remembering her response when learning what Victoria did, almost believes her.

"When's the meeting?" Lia asks.

"About now, probably."

"What do you think they'll do?"

"I don't know Mitch, their head of A&R, and his mouthpiece, their in-house counsel, like playing hardball, but Harrison and Patrick— and Patrick's lawyer friend, apparently—believe Arrius is between a rock and a hard place; that they'll have to accept."

"Well, I agree. Imagine what their artists would think and do if news about what that bitch did gets out—imagine how other labels and the media could exploit the information?" Lia responds.

"What," she asks, seeing Bella's anxious expression.

"I…I just want things to go right for him, you know?"

"Masen?"

"Yes." Bella pauses, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. "I need to speak to him…apologize," she says.

"What's stopping you?"

"I'm scared."

"Of what? " Lia prods.

"Of him rejecting my apology," Bella confesses.

"Do you honestly believe you owe him one?"

"Yes," Bella answers, her voice cracking.

"Then do it, and soon because you're drowning in guilt," Lia urges, stopping Bella's protest by raising a finger. "You've already paid a huge price, what more can you lose? At least you'll know you did the right thing."

Choked with emotion, Bella agrees, and, for the rest of the day, whenever work allows, she replays Lia's advice. She remembers that Harrison and her mother, even Jasper, had suggested the same thing.

The morning after Edward's call, Jasper had met with Harrison and Patrick, who, with Edward's permission, had played Victoria's confession. The taped conversation had confirmed his suspicion about Bella and Edward's relationship. He'd realized that they'd been more—much more—than friends, who'd 'dated for a while.'

Later that day, he'd invited Bella to his office. He'd wanted to praise her fast thinking, but he'd also wanted to assess, for himself, her depth of feeling for Edward. 'Bone deep,' he'd decided when reading her emotions as she explained her altercation with Victoria, particularly her admission about drugging Edward. Jasper realized, then, that Bella hadn't been 'upset', as Harrison had described; she'd been heartbroken. 'Still is,' he'd noted with a stabbing and surprising disappointment.

The emotion, in itself, hadn't surprised. 'What red-blooded man easily gives up on a woman he'd wanted?' Jasper had thought. The _level_ of feeling, something he hadn't experienced in years, had shocked him.

Jasper _had_ wanted Bella. He'd been attracted to her immediately, and, as had become his habit, he'd acted on it. He'd intended to have her in his bed, but, unlike most other women he'd flirted with, Bella hadn't succumbed. She'd felt the physical pull, Jasper could tell, but she'd resisted. 'Hell," he'd mentally scoffed when remembering his torn business card and the message that had accompanied it, 'she'd fought tooth and nail.'

He'd realized that Bella hadn't been emotionally available—not to him, and not, he'd deduced, to anyone associated with the music industry. 'Someone in the business has screwed her over,' he'd told himself and resolved to move on. 'Plenty of other beautiful fish in the sea,' he'd reminded himself, but Bella had continued to intrigue Jasper. He didn't quite know why. Perhaps it had been her wariness and her determination to resist his advances. Whatever the reason, Bella had intrigued him more than any woman he'd met in years, and he'd met and bedded many in that time. By his own admission, Jasper had become a bit of a Lothario. 'Love 'em and leave 'em,' had become his mantra since leaving Austin.

He'd been pleasantly surprised when, after rescuing Bella from a drunken customer in the pub, they'd called a truce of sorts. He'd hoped that he might still win her over. Her intellect, and how articulately and passionately she'd described what she wanted from her career, however, had overridden his base instincts. Instead of trying to seduce her, he'd offered her a job. He'd assured Bella that his reasons were genuine, and, as promised, he'd left the final decision to Karen. Bella had become one of his employees, and, for the most part, he'd treated her like one. The feeling of attraction, however, hadn't diminished. In fact, over time and unnoticed by him, those feeling had grown to include respect and affection. Not quite love, but something that could perhaps have blossomed into more. That had been why Jasper had felt despondent when seeing the depth of feeling Bella still has for Edward.

Jasper had understood, then, how his feelings had grown. He'd also accepted just how doomed they are. He'd listened, regretful, as Bella haltingly finished her story.

"Did he leave you or did you leave him?" he'd asked.

"I left him," she'd said, her voice coated in pain.

"Because of Dallas?"

"Yes," Bella had cried, and Jasper had hugged her. He'd breathed in her scent, enjoyed their short, physical contact and then, gently releasing her, he'd returned to his seat. He'd praised her legal knowledge and quick thinking in recording Victoria.

"What you did was amazing. Masen, I'm sure, appreciates it. Have you talked?" he'd asked, and Bella, looking desolate, had shaken her head. "You two, clearly, have things to sort out," Jasper said before he'd scribbled on a slip of paper and handed it to her. Bella had waited until she'd been back at her desk before reading it. 'Masen,' Jasper had written, followed by a cell phone number.

She'd folded and unfolded that slip of paper dozens of times, on the verge of calling. Each time her courage had failed her. The blood had pumped through her veins, her heart had hammered against her ribs, nearly beating itself out of her chest, and her mouth had felt bone dry.

But that night, on the day that Edward's lawyers delivered an ultimatum to Arrius, after Lia's reminder of what her pride had cost her, Bella overcomes her fears. With her heart in her throat and trembling fingers, she dials the number.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **This posting is a bit later than I'd planned; I'm sorry. I stupidly sliced a finger while cleaning my oven—my RH index finger, right on the pad—stupid, right? That mishap earned me five stitches, a tetanus shot, and a few days of difficulty with typing! Can't wait until Sunday when the stitches are removed!**

 **A warm welcome to new readers and followers, who've joined our crazy train, and I'd like to thank those who've favorited either Unplugged or me since the last posting. And, as always, I'd like to assure my loyal readers of my gratitude and affection. Without you, my writing endeavors would be much less rewarding.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda x**


	26. Chapter 26

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty-Four**

Edward is out with Jake, Ricky, and Jay when his phone rings. "Masen," he answers. "Hello…hello?" He becomes impatient when no one speaks and is intent on hanging up when a hesitant, "Edward," reaches his ear.

"Bella?" he asks warily.

"Hi," she answers, and in that single word, Edward senses her nervousness. His first instinct, as it had always been with Bella, is to comfort her, but he resists, steeling himself with the reminder that it's no longer his place.

"Umm…I was hoping we could talk. I know you're busy—" Bella rambles

"How about coffee on Thursday?" Edward, no longer able to stand her uneasiness, cuts in.

"Sure," Bella sighs in relief.

"What time suits you?"

"I have an easy day, so anytime."

"Ten?" Edward suggests, and when Bella agrees, names a place he tells her is 'around the corner from Sigel.'

"I know it," she says, not missing the irony that it's where she and Jasper met. They lapse into silence with neither knowing what to say. "I'll see you then," Bella eventually manages and hangs up.

Edward stares at the phone, wishing for a moment that he'd kept her talking. 'Stupid,' he mutters and pockets it, determined not to think about Bella or what she might say. And yet, he does, and no matter how much or how hard he tries, he can't unravel the knot tightening in his gut at the thought of seeing her. "Meet her, thank her, and leave," he decides and, over the next two days, repeats the phrase over and over.

Bella battles similar emotions. She's afraid Edward will reject her apology and wonders how, if ever, he could forgive her lack of faith in him and their relationship. Since Victoria's confession, she's berated herself for not confronting, him and the woman, even Victoria, on that night. 'You would have learned the truth,' the voice in her head torments to the point where Bella wants to scream at it to stop. Still, there's no escaping it, or the suffocating guilt and remorse that's built steadily since the washroom exchange. 'Explain, apologize, and, hopefully, he'll understand,' she tells herself.

In Los Angeles, around the same time, Mitch and Randy are meeting with an almost apoplectic Aro Larsen.

"What the fuck do you mean, _she drugged him_?" he demands, glaring at his most senior and trusted employee.

"At this point, it's still only an allegation," Randy points out, and, when Aro skewers him with a glacial stare, clamps his mouth shut.

"Well?" Aro snaps at Mitch, who hastily explains. Aro becomes increasingly incensed as the story unfolds.

"You heard the recording, and it's definitely Victoria?" he asks.

"Yes," Mitch confirms as both he and Randy nod. Randy produces a copy of the transcript, which Aro waves aside.

"Why the hell would she tell one of Sigel's lawyers?" he asks.

"Bella Swan's Masen's ex-girlfriend who featured in the Beautiful Home video," Mitch reveals.

"She's working for Whitlock—as a _lawyer_?" Aro looks incredulous.

"Yes, and she's, obviously, a very smart one," Mitch responds sourly.

"Why the hell would Victoria do something so damned stupid?"

"She, apparently, wanted Masen for herself," Mitch says.

"Can _we_ be implicated in this?"Aro asks Randy.

"Potentially, if they sue under negligent hiring and retention laws," he answers, clearly relieved to be deemed relevant again.

"I don't want legal jargon. Just tell me, could they win?" Aro demands.

"If they have the evidence they claim," Randy says.

" _What_ fucking evidence?" Aro growls, his teeth clenched.

"Apparently, another employee heard Victoria's confession, and, according to Masen's lawyers, they have witnesses who'll testify about Victoria's history of harassing talent and staff."

"Who's this employee and what about the other talent and staff?" Aro's temper frays again.

"They wouldn't disclose identities," Randy says.

"Nothing like drugging," Mitch hastily interjects.

"At this stage, it doesn't matter who else she drugged because, _apparently_ , she drugged one of _our_ stars while working for _us_! And, it seems, we could be dragged through the courts and lose! I haven't even mentioned the potential media shit storm!" Aro's pacing by now.

"We have procedures for background and reference checks, don't we?" he asks Mitch.

"Personnel's meant to check before issuing employment contracts."

"You and I will discuss how this happened. For now, speak to Ben. Tell him to fire the responsible person, and do everything you can to distance us from this mess and lay the blame solely on that bitch, Victoria. I want her destroyed in the business and anywhere else we can."

"What about Masen? His lawyers are expecting a response," Randy asks.

"Pay him. It pisses me off, but it's worth it to keep the lid on this." Aro waves a dismissive hand, and Mitch and Randy, both visibly relieved, rush out. Mitch knows Aro still has plenty to say to him, most of it unpleasant. Still, he feels lucky to have gotten off so lightly. He realizes how foolish he'd been to put so much trust in Victoria. He curses her under his breath, determined to do what Aro asked. 'I'll fucking destroy her!' he vows.

Victoria, meanwhile, is still reeling from her ignominious fall. She can't remember feeling so thoroughly humiliated, not even when, at seventeen, her mother had thrown her out, literally, in full view of their neighbors. Half-dressed, with a bleeding lip, she'd felt shame, but, thanks to her mother's rowdy, drunk, and frequently violent behavior, such scenes had become commonplace. Then, she'd salvaged her pride with the belief that the expressions of disgust, or ridicule, sometimes both, had been directed at her mother and not her. For her, she believed, people felt pity. On that day, as he'd done for years, James had rescued her—from her mother and the humiliation. Victoria swore she'd never return, that, one day, instead of pitying her, people would respect her. 'No matter what I have to do,' she'd promised herself.

Two days ago, Arrius' security manager, Bob Baxter, had shown neither pity nor his usual respect while escorting her to her office. Nor had her colleagues who'd watched as she'd piled her belongings into the box that her assistant had, almost gleefully, provided. Neither had her other co-workers, who had, miraculously, gathered to see her off the premises. Their faces, every single one, had expressed either curiosity, disgust, or unadulterated pleasure. "How the mighty have fallen," someone had sneered as she'd passed.

Victoria, although dying inside, had ignored the sniggers and whispers as she'd walked with her head held high and her back ramrod straight. She'd maintained the facade until she'd entered her expensive condo, where she'd crawled, fully clothed, onto her luxurious bed. She'd bawled her eyes out, and, for once, her trappings of success had failed to comfort her.

Later, after she'd woken from an exhausted sleep, Victoria did what she did best; she blamed others and plotted and schemed to get what she wants.

. . . . .

On Thursday morning Edward and Bella are still battling their emotions, but, with their mantras firmly in mind, both are determined to stick to their plan. Bella, up before her alarm, showers and leaves for work an hour earlier than usual. Lia, who arrives forty minutes later, jokingly asks if she wet the bed. "Did you?" Bella counters, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"I'm here before Harrison, so I'm early," Lia protests and, perceptive as ever, drops into Bella's visitors' chair. "What's up?" she asks.

"I called Edward."

"Good!"

" _And_?" she prompts when Bella doesn't elaborate.

"We're meeting for coffee."

"When? Damn it, Bella. It's like pulling teeth. What did you say; what did _he_ say?" Lia demands.

"I asked to talk, and he suggested meeting for coffee. _This morning_ ," Bella adds when Lia scowls. She admits to dreading Edward's reaction. "He'll probably get mad."

"He'll get over it. If he doesn't, screw him," Lia asserts. "Do you know what you're going to say?" she asks.

"Kind of," Bella says unconvincingly.

"Say what you feel," Lia advises and then, realizing the time, jumps up, announcing that she has a meeting. "You'll do okay. Catch up over lunch?" she calls over her shoulder.

"Sure," Bella agrees and returns to work but can't concentrate. She checks the time incessantly, and with each passing minute, the fluttering in her stomach increases until, unable to bear the tension, she visits the ladies' and kills time by touching up her lip-gloss and brushing her hair. Still restless, she abandons any thought of work and leaves for the coffee shop, where, instead of being a few minutes late to avoid appearing too eager as she'd planned, she arrives nearly ten minutes early. Thankfully, for Bella's nerves and self-esteem, only minutes after settling at a corner table, she sees Edward approach. Her heart, as it's done since the first time in the Cullen garden, leaps at the sight of him. 'After all this time,' she mentally scoffs, calling herself pathetic.

She doesn't know whether to feel better or worse when he enters the shop and almost every female present stares—some with their tongues practically hanging out. 'That hasn't changed either,' Bella notes sourly. 'Who can blame them?' her inner voice taunts. For once, Bella agrees as she takes in Edward's long limbs encased in worn black jeans and an equally lived-in gray t-shirt and leather jacket. Her heart twists when remembering the many times he'd draped the jacket around her, how his warmth and masculine scent had lingered, and how loved and protected she'd felt.

She tears her eyes from his chest, more muscular than she remembers, and drinks in the sight of his hair, its unique color and dishevelment, his chiseled jaw, piercing green eyes, and the seemingly constant scowl. From early photographs, Bella knows that he developed the habit only after his mother's death. The only times she'd seen it entirely disappear had been during interactions with either Alice, or her, or when he'd slept. Since his leap to fame, those features, including the scowl, have spawned dozens of superlatives in tabloids and social media around the globe. 'A tall drink of brooding hotness,' one entertainment commentator had once said about him.

Bella can't help smiling when noticing that Edward seems as oblivious to the attention as he'd always been. She's even happier when registering the women's disappointment. Her smile slips, however, when his gaze lands on her, and his expression remains unchanged. His eyes, however, soften, and that tiny sign of warmth boosts Bella's hope that he'll, at least, hear her out. Her nerves spike as he nears and when, in his rich, smooth voice, he greets her with a simple and low, "Bella," her entire body heats as memories of him whispering dirty words flood her brain.

"H…hi," she stammers, embarrassed by her wayward thoughts. "Umm…thanks for meeting me."

"I was going to contact you anyway," Edward informs her, and then, before she can answer, suggests getting something to drink. "What would you like?" he asks.

"A piccolo latte, please," she answers, reaching for her handbag.

He frowns, "I'll get it, Bella," he says, sounding offended. " Do you want something to eat?"

She declines even though she'd skipped breakfast. "Sure?" Edward questions, and Bella wonders how, after seven years, he can still read her so well.

"Yes." Her face warms under his piercing gaze. She looks away, and then, when he turns, watches him walk to the counter with the same, natural grace with which he does almost everything. The barista, a female, appears momentarily dazed before she recovers and smiles flirtatiously. Edward doesn't reciprocate. Instead, just as Bella rolls her eyes at the woman's crestfallen expression, he looks over his shoulder and, seeing her reaction, his mouth curves upward. In that moment, time recedes, and they're back to a time where they're deeply in love; where, lost in their own world, they could communicate without talking, and where no one and nothing else mattered.

The spell breaks when the barista speaks, drawing Edward's attention. He blinks and, with a last, indecipherable look at Bella, drops his smile and severs their connection. Bella turns away, determined not to surrender to the regret and longing she feels. She can't, however, help noticing the other, greedy eyes that follow him when, drinks in hand, he returns. Nor can she miss the recognition in some, or the muttering of 'Masen' that drifts from a nearby table.

For some reason, she feels miserable—not because of the female attention he attracts; Edward's always done that, and not because of his fame because she's always supported his ambitions. What bothers Bella is the memory of how poorly she'd coped with Edward's new life—the life _she'd_ encouraged him to follow. She cringes when remembering how Victoria, when first meeting her, had predicted her inadequacy. 'I proved her right,' she thinks bitterly just as Edward places their drinks on the table.

Bella murmurs a "thank you" as he lowers himself into his chair. She breathes deeply, an attempt to gather her scattered thoughts. She looks up, straight into burning green eyes and forgets every carefully planned word. Mentally, Bella flounders like a landed fish out of water.

"Thank you for what you did with Victoria." Edward unwittingly comes to her rescue. " I'm sorry you had to go through that, but I'm grateful, Bella. Without you, I still wouldn't know what happened," he says.

"Please…don't thank me…and don't apologize." Her voice breaks. " _I'm_ sorry, Edward, for not listening—"

"I understand why you didn't. Especially after hearing that tape," he says. His voice, unusually gruff, sounds sincere but something in his eyes, some intangible emotion underlying his words, leaves Bella unconvinced.

"I need—" she says but, again, he interrupts.

" _I_ don't need an apology, and I don't want to discuss what you or I did or didn't do."

Bella recoils at his icy tone, and Edward, seeing her reaction, feels instantly contrite. "Not yet," he says, his voice somewhat warmer. "There's just too much other shit I'm dealing with right now."

"Okay," Bella concedes, her voice trembling.

Edward breaks their gaze as he wrestles with his decision to protect himself but wanting her in his life. He thinks about how, nearly twenty years ago, he'd fought and lost a similar battle. He remembers, also, how dropping his guard then had ended in heartache. And yet, despite the lingering ache and the warning bells sounding in his head, he can't resist the force that pulls him to her.

For Bella, watching Edward's troubled profile, each passing second feels like a lifetime, and when, finally, he looks at her, her heart leaps to her throat. "Tell me about that night," he invites sounding resigned, and she, her shoulders sagging with relief, does. She starts with how, with Erin's help, she'd made the trip, how she'd phoned him several times and, eventually, had texted, announcing her arrival and suggesting he pack a bag because she'd booked a hotel. Edward frowns in places, tightens his lips in others but doesn't interrupt.

Bella explains how she'd checked into the hotel, and then, in the same cab, had traveled to the venue. "When did you get there?" he asks.

"Just after midnight." Bella's throat tightens when describing how a roadie had directed her to the dressing room. She blinks away tears and takes a deep breath, willing herself to continue.

"You were on a sofa, leaning back with your eyes closed and…and…" Her voice breaks. Edward's face is a mixture of fury and shame. He clenches his jaw, dreading yet determined to hear what comes next. "A woman was kneeling… between your legs, and it looked like…like—" Bella stops, a sound, somewhere between a sob and a hiccup leaves her throat while Edward swallows, choking back the bile rising in his throat.

"Anyway," Bella continues, her voice strained. "She looked up and smiled. She was just so smug, I ran. And then, Victoria was outside…gloating." Her shoulders sag under the weight of regret. "I should have known then," she says, but Edward shakes his head, telling her to stop.

Learning about Victoria's involvement had infuriated him, but realizing just how devious and cruel she'd been, how much she must have relished in Bella's pain, makes him see red. Bella, afraid he'll explode, rushes the end. "I didn't know what to do or how to get back to the hotel, and then the same man offered to drive me. I left on the first flight in the morning and…well…you know the rest." Her breath stutters as she waits for Edward's response.

It's a while before he speaks; _trusts_ himself to do so. "I wasn't awake, Bella. I didn't—" he says, but she interrupts.

"I know that. _Now._ " Taking another shuddering breath, she continues. "I should have known then. It's just—I was so shocked and hurt, I just wanted to leave." Tears, frustrated ones this time, threaten when she remembers how Victoria had called her a mouse for running away.

Her phone rings, startling both her and Edward. "Where are you?" Harrison, sounding stressed, asks when, after fumbling in in her bag for the offending item, she answers.

"Having coffee with a friend," Bella tells him, trying to sound normal.

"How far away?" Harrison asks.

"Ten minutes," she answers, and he asks if she can return right away.

"Why?"

"Lily Cage is demanding a meeting, and I don't know a damned thing about her contract."

"I'll leave now," she says, glancing nervously at Edward, whose face is an impassive mask once more.

"Thanks, Swan; I owe you. Hope I didn't interrupt something important," Harrison says.

"I'll see you soon," Bella answers and hangs up. "That was Harrison," she tells Edward, her face and voice apologetic.

"Go. I need to get to the studio anyway," he says coolly.

"I'm sorry, Edward. For everything, not just for having to leave," Bella adds when he doesn't respond.

"I told you I don't need an apology, Bella. Victoria's a manipulative bitch, who fooled us both."

"Do you—can we meet again?" she asks, trying not to sound too desperate.

Edward exhales a long breath, fists his hair, tugging at the ends; a sure sign, Bella knows, that he's agitated. "I know you're mad, and I don't blame you, but there's more I need to say, and maybe you do too," she pushes, and Edward, bowing his head, swears under his breath before he looks up, eyes blazing.

"You know, I didn't want to do this, but that...that's _bullshit_ , Bella! " he hisses. I begged you—" He huffs and rakes his hand through his hair again when she blanches. "I can't do this now. I'll think about it, okay? That's more than you gave me!" he says, voice low and angry. "You'd better go. Harrison's waiting, and I don't think we should leave together," he tells her, glancing pointedly at the curious faces watching.

Bella, embarrassed by the dismissal and unwanted attention, gathers her things. "Thanks for meeting me," she near whispers, and then, forcing a wan smile, leaves.

Edward stares at their barely touched coffee, so many 'what the fucks,' 'what ifs,' and 'if onlys' bombard his brain, he can't think straight. The barista, having deserted her post, arrives and, preening before him, asks if he needs anything. He contemplates telling her that he hadn't fucked or wanted to fuck someone like her in ages—not since he'd come to his senses. Instead, and just in time, he remembers his anger would be misplaced. He slips on his sunglasses and walks out.

. . . . .

For days after, both Edward and Bella relive their conversation—she wishing she'd said more and he, alternating between regretting his outburst and kicking himself for considering another meeting.

Bella had wanted to explain how the scene she'd walked into had utterly devastated her, how for the longest time, even in her sleep, the vision of the woman between his legs had haunted her. She'd wanted to say that when the shock had worn off, anger, pride, and insecurity had taken over. She'd planned every sentence, had even rehearsed them, but being in Edward's presence, especially after realizing how profoundly he still affects her, had pushed the words right out of her mind.

"I didn't say half of it, and I just want him to understand," she tells Lia when, three days later, thanks to Harrison's crisis and their workloads, they finally catch up.

"Talk to him again," Lia suggests.

"I asked, but I don't think he _wants_ to hear what I have to say."

"So? Make him."

Bella sighs. "You don't know Edward. He's stubborn and proud."

Lia laughs. "Like you?"

"What? No!" Bella protests and then, seeing Lia's incredulous look, smiles. "Okay, I can be, but nothing like him. Trust me," she says.

"Bella, if you want him to understand, _you_ have to put yourself out there. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Bella answers despondently.

"What's stopping you?" Lia asks, her voice gentling.

"I'm confused," Bella admits, explaining how much being and speaking with Edward again had rattled her.

"You felt that way at the signing," Lia points out.

"I was shocked, but I spent ages— _ages_ —since then, convincing myself that I was over him." Bella huffs.

"Do you want to be?" Lia asks. Bella opens her mouth to protest but almost immediately shuts it. She looks away, biting her bottom lip.

"I don't know," she eventually says.

"Bella, I know this is hard, but you need to decide what you want. If you have more to say, call Masen and talk, again, and again if necessary. You have to do it, especially if you want a relationship. Any relationship," she waves off Bella's protest. "Otherwise, be happy with the apology you've given." Lia shrugs her shoulders, taking the sting out of her last words.

Bella nods and sighs, her breath escaping her in an audible puff of air before she thanks her friend. "For everything," she adds.

"Pfft!" Lia scoffs. "I Just said all the things you already know."

Contrary to Bella's belief, Edward had always understood her reaction. Rationally, he hadn't blamed her, and despite or, perhaps, because of his lack of memory, he'd accepted full responsibility, not only for the events in Dallas but also for their breakup. Emotionally, though, he'd felt betrayed and, deep down, particularly after Bella's repeated rejection of his attempts to explain, he'd grown angry. He'd buried those feelings under layers of self-blame and loathing. Still, they'd simmered, and when Bella, after all this time, had suggested that _he_ might have something to say, Edward's frustrations had boiled over.

"I lost it," he tells Alex, when the day after meeting Bella, she calls.

"Stop beating yourself up for saying what you feel," she tells him. "Your feelings are valid, Edward, I've told you before, and I'm sure Dan's said the same thing."

"He did, but still, Bella was justified too. If I'd caught her with another man…" he stops, shocking himself, not only for voicing it but by how angry and repulsed he feels at the mere thought.

"What would you have done?" Alex prompts.

"I would've taken his fucking head off!"

"What about Bella? Would you have listened to her?"

"Of course!"

"Sure?"

Edward hesitates. "I'd like to think so—at least after I'd cooled down."

"That's just the thing, Edward, people don't always do what others or even what _they_ expect, especially when they're hurt or feel threatened. Some defend themselves and some run; the response is instinctive, and each decision carries a consequence. _If_ the roles had been reversed, and if you did what you just said, you would have known Bella had been drugged. And if she wasn't, maybe you would have let her explain. Who knows? But things weren't different, and Bella didn't do what you would have or think you would have done. All you can do now is deal with your decisions."

"We have. She decided she didn't want to be with me, and I fucked up my life, which I'm now fixing."

"I don't know Bella, but I know you reasonably well, Edward, and I care for you. So, as your friend, not a therapist, I'll give you some advice. I don't think you or Bella can effectively deal with what happened until you're painfully honest with each other. And I mean _painfully_ , because, hearing and telling the truth will most definitely hurt you both, but it's the only way you'll rebuild your relationship."

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Edward asks, sounding defensive.

"I didn't say a romantic relationship. You could be business acquaintances, friends, or more but, whatever you decide, you should at least be able to be in the same room without turning yourselves inside out. That's all I'm saying."

"I'll think about it," Edward says non-committally and changes the subject by asking about Alex's life. They chat about that and other things before she mentions his album. "Eva's finalizing the PR schedule. I'll let you know when I'll be in LA. Maybe we can catch up?"

"I'd like that," she answers readily, and Edward promises to call over the weekend. Shortly after, they say goodbye.

While neither he nor Bella acts on their friends' advice, they think about it, sometimes to the point of fretting. And then, a week later, a phone call from Patrick takes the decision out of their hands.

"We heard from Jack Kent," he says after a brief greeting.

"And?" Edward asks, echoing his lawyer's excitement.

"He found the woman, Maggie!" Patrick announces triumphantly.

"Brilliant!" Edward exclaims. "What did he learn?"

"He hasn't confronted her yet. He wants to talk to you first to check if you remember anything more before he flies to Dallas."

"Should I call him?

"No, he's coming here. Monday if that suits you."

"I'll make it work. Just let me know."

"Will do. Should I call Bella or will you?"

"Bella?" Edward asks, his pulse speeding.

"Yes. Jack needs information from her too and wants to talk to you together."

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I feel like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, lately— always running around saying, "I'm late! I'm late!".**

 **I'm past apologizing because, honestly, my life has been and continues to be hectic. So, instead of saying sorry, I ask that you bear with me. I am and will continue to get the chapters out as fast as I can.**

 **Onto general housekeeping:**

 **A warm welcome to new readers and followers. Thank you to those who reached out to check if I was okay. Your messages warmed my heart.**

 **Thanks, always, to you my loyal readers. I am, as ever, grateful. Mawh!**

 **Take care, everyone. Until next time.**

 **Shenda.**


	27. Chapter 27

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plotlines belong to Shenda Paul.**

* * *

 **Unplugged Chapter 25**

"Why the hell would he want to do that?" Edward demands.

"I'm sure Jack has his reasons. Is it a problem?" Patrick asks, and Edward only just stops himself from yelling that, yes, it is—a _huge_ fucking problem because he's not ready to see or speak to Bella again. He bites back the words and, through clenched teeth, agrees to the meeting.

"Should I arrange it?" Patrick offers, and Edward, wanting to end the conversation, accepts. The next day, when receiving a text reading, _Your suite. Monday 6 p.m._ , he utters an irate, "fuck." His first inclination is to call and abuse Patrick for nominating his hotel room but, just in time, remembers the other meetings he'd held there. He utters a string of curses before he shakes off his frustration, and, for the next few days, immerses himself in meetings about album covers, promotional plans, and tour dates. Still, whenever he's not fully absorbed, his mind wanders to Monday and Alex's advice about settling things with Bella.

Edward knows that he should, that he has, to speak with her but doesn't trust himself not to get angry. Even more troubling is how much Bella still affects him. On Friday evening, he returns to New York, still feeling unsettled, and on Saturday, during his regular therapy session with Dan Scott, he relates his conversation with Bella, the half-promise he'd made, and his reluctance to meet again.

"Why? Dan asks.

"I'm just so damned mad, and I don't want to hurt her more than she's been," Edward admits.

"You know, Edward, anger can be a healthy emotion. It's a natural reaction to feeling wronged, and you have lots of reasons to be mad. You also have the right to express those feelings—even to Bella. In fact, I think it's necessary," Dan pauses, waiting for a response. He shakes his head at Edward's silence.

"I don't need to remind you of the consequences of repressing things. You need to get things off your chest and let Bella do the same, or you'll never truly move on," Dan tells him.

Edward doesn't appreciate the reminder of how he'd screwed up his life but nods anyway, acknowledging the comment. 'The problem is, move on to what?' he wonders, and, although he doesn't know it yet, that question will torment him many times over the next months.

"Why wouldn't you let Bella apologize?" Dan asks.

"I just told you," Edward says, irritation leaking into his voice.

"That you were mad, yes, but you and I know there's more to it than that," Dan challenges. "Fine," he says when Edward ignores his statement, "Eventually you'll have to admit it—even if it's only to yourself." Edward shrugs and pointedly suggests that they move on. Dan nods. "Sure," he agrees, knowing he'll raise the matter again. Fifteen minutes later, their session ends.

Back in his apartment, Edward admits that Dan had been right about more than anger driving his refusal to hear Bella's apology. He does, however, reject his assumption that he hasn't acknowledged the other reason. "How couldn't I?" Edward scoffs because that reason underpins every thought of and interaction with Bella. It stirs his anger, which, in truth, is directed mainly at himself. It caused his outburst in the coffee shop, and it lies at the heart of Edward's fear of letting Bella back into his life.

In his mind, resuming a relationship, any relationship, with Bella demands that he confess his indiscretions. Even as a friend, he believes she'd be disgusted, and whenever Edward fantasizes about more, he can't imagine how she'd ever forgive or forget. The drinking, probably, he'd reasoned; maybe even the drugs, but the women? 'Hell,' he'd thought, ' _I_ hate myself!' No, he'd decided, Bella would never be able to see past that. The only likely outcome would be another crushing rejection. And so, as he'd done since losing his mother when he'd felt the need to protect himself, Edward had retreated behind a wall of wariness and anger.

That barrier, much to his frustration, is proving as useless at keeping Bella out as it had before. Nothing he does can strengthen it—not the painful reminders of how she'd sent him away and not the memories of how, in his misery, he'd almost destroyed himself. Nor do the constant repetitions of his vow not to be that vulnerable or stupid ever again. 'It's fucking useless! I should just tell her and get it over with,' he huffs, the thought bouncing around in his head until it takes hold, and, despite Edward not planning to act on it, his anxiety eases.

That afternoon, he receives a text from Alice. _I miss you. Dinner tomorrow?_ She asks.

 _Sure. What about Es?_ He replies.

 _She and Dad have a thing to attend._

 _Fine. My favorite place. 7.30._

 _You're lucky I love you. See you then._ The heart eyes emoji makes Edward smile. It's a reminder of the positive changes in his life—he's sober, in control, probably more than he's ever been, and surrounded by people who care. It's a vast change from less than a year ago. Not even the fact that he's spending another night alone, or that he hasn't had sex in ages can lessen his sense of achievement.

"Don't you miss it?" Jake had recently asked when Edward had ignored yet another unsubtle invitation from a fan who'd asked him to pose for a selfie.

"Miss what?" he'd returned when the woman had moved on.

"Sex."

"Of course, I miss it. I just don't want to have random hookups. That shit's never really been me," he'd said.

"I get it, man. All I'm saying is, you don't have to give it up completely," Jake returned, and Edward had merely nodded. For him, being celibate, for the foreseeable future, at least, is just another necessary step to cleaning up his life.

He retreats to his studio for the rest of the night, and, on Sunday morning, goes for a run. On the way back, he stops at one of his favorite neighborhood haunts, a laid-back coffee shop with an impressive selection of vinyl records for sale. On his first visit, Edward bought his first LP and later that week, a state-of-the-art turntable. He now owns a collection of classic R&B, soul, and jazz records. Listening to the music of that era transports him to the happy times he spent with Elizabeth and Lou.

Edward walks for the rest of his journey, sipping his coffee. Outside the old New York Dock Company building, the place he now calls home, he does something that's become an unconscious habit. He looks up and smiles. The sense of accomplishment he feels is gratifying but also bittersweet because his mother, who'd dreamed of a better life for her son, isn't here to share it.

Late that afternoon, he returns to Philadelphia and that evening, meets Alice at the steakhouse that, according to her, is a _man's_ restaurant. "Too much meat," she insists no matter how many times he proves her wrong.

"What are you doing?" Alice asks.

"Deciding what to order," Edward answers without looking up from his menu.

She grabs the folder. "You always have the same thing!"

"I may want something different," he argues.

"No, you won't. You'll order the Wagyu ribeye, whipped potatoes, and creamed spinach _again_ ," she says just their server, who introduces herself as Mel, arrives. To Alice's annoyance, she focuses solely on Edward. Alice leans forward and repeats Edward's standard order. "For _him_ ," she snaps because the woman still hasn't acknowledged her. " _I'll_ have the Ora King salmon. Thanks, Mel," she adds with exaggerated politeness.

Edward smiles, both amused and impressed by his sister's spunk. "I hope you're paying because I didn't want that," he teases when the server leaves.

"Dream on," Alice grins cheekily and changes the subject. "Did you invite Daphne and Chez to stay?" she asks.

"I did, but Daphne's sister had surgery and needs her help. But I'll be in LA soon, so we'll catch up then. Why don't you come for the weekend?" he suggests.

"When?" Alice raises her glass to her lips.

"In two weeks. I'll let you know the dates," Edward tells her, and then, watching her drink, says, "You can order wine, you know."

"I know. I don't want any."

" Shrimp, I know what you're doing, and it isn't necessary. I'm not an alcoholic.

"I know; it's just—"

"You don't trust me," Edward says.

"Of course, I do!" she protests.

"Just what?" he insists.

"I don't want to make things harder for you, and… you know…it's not polite," Alice looks sheepish, an expression so foreign to her that Edward bursts out laughing.

"I know I drank too much," he tells her when he's composed himself. " _Way_ too much," he adds when Alice raises her brow. "But I didn't want to stop then."

"And now? Do you ever want a drink?"

"I sometimes feel like a beer or a glass of wine with dinner, but I don't crave it. I've been to the pub with Jake and the guys, and I haven't had alcohol—not once. I'm not an alcoholic, Alice," he repeats.

"What about Dexedrine? Do you crave that?"

"At first I did. Now, I hardly think about it."

"Really?"

"Really," Edward assures her. "The cravings were bad during and after detox, but it was a physical rather than psychological need, Shrimp. As long as I stay away from the stuff, I'll be okay."

"What about when you're touring?" Alice pushes.

"Things are different this time. I'm proud of this album, and my head's screwed on right. Also, we won't be traveling everywhere by bus, and I'll be with different guys. Jake's not into drugs, and Ricky and Jay are seasoned pros, who've played with big acts. Those people and their management wouldn't risk backing artists messing up. Besides, you forget, I toured my first album and most of the second without doing that shit."

"I know; I'm sorry. I worry about you, that's all."

"And I appreciate it, honestly, but I'll be okay."

Alice scrutinizes him for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied, nods. "Good. Maybe if the timing fits, I can come to London. I've always wanted to go."

"I'd love that, Shrimp," Edward says, genuinely pleased.

Over dinner, they catch up on their week, and then as their meal ends, Edward mentions the meeting with Jack Kent. "Do you think this Maggie will know something that could get Victoria charged? Have you thought about it?" she asks.

"I think about it a lot, but I still don't know if it's worth filing a complaint—not if Victoria's going to get off with a slap on the wrist."

"But she drugged you!" Alice hisses and then, remembering where they are, looks around guiltily. "Sorry," she apologizes. "I just get so mad about her getting away with it."

Edward sighs. "How do you think I feel? But we've been through this, and you heard what Vince thinks. Let's see if Kent learns anything that changes things. Besides, she lost her job and, trust me, for Victoria that's a huge price to pay. "

Somewhat appeased, Alice nods. "Bella will also be there tomorrow," Edward reveals.

"What? Why?" Alice demands and, realizing that she's raised her voice, mouths another apology.

"Kent wants to hear what she knows," Edward tells her and, then, before she can ask, adds, "I don't know why, but Patrick assures me there must be a good reason he wants to interview us together."

"I'm okay with it," he tells Alice and admits his and Bella's coffee shop meeting. "I thanked her for what she did with Victoria, and she apologized for not believing me," he says when she asks and, no matter how hard she tries to wheedle details from him, refuses to elaborate.

. . . . .

Bella's thoughts about Edward had been just as tumultuous, and Patrick's phone call had only made matters worse. The upside, she's tried to convince herself is that now, at least, she isn't wondering about if and when Edward would call. Nor does she have to agonize about calling him. Lia had said as much about the meeting, but she'd nearly spat her coffee across the table when hearing the venue. "Try not to take your clothes off," she'd joked.

Bella had dismissed the comment by rolling her eyes, but the idea of being in Edward's hotel room _had_ made her stomach flutter. She'd reminded herself that they wouldn't be alone, that Patrick and not Edward had invited her there. And yet, even now, an hour before the appointed time, the feeling persists. Part of her longs for a chance to be alone to say what she still feels she needs to and another dreads it. Not even the memory of Edward's dismissal of her last attempt can stop her hoping.

At six-ten, when she enters the hotel, Bella still doesn't know which she wants more, and by the time she leaves the elevator, she's still unsure. Only when she's standing outside Edward's door with her heart pounding and her anxiety nearly choking her, does she wonder why she'd ever agreed to meet here.

She startles, stifling a squeak when someone, a man, says her name. "Sorry," he smiles when she spins around. "I didn't mean to scare you. Jack Kent."

"Bella Swan, but you already knew that," she says, her voice questioning as she takes in his craggy-face, dark eyes, and close-cropped salt and pepper hair.

"Assumed—given the time and place," Jack responds lightly. "Shall we?" he suggests, and then, before she can react, reaches around her and presses the buzzer. Bella barely has time to prepare herself before the door opens, and Edward appears. For a split second both he and she freeze, their eyes locked, until Jack clears his throat, and Edward, seemingly for the first time, notices him. He steps aside, silently inviting them in and shuts the door. "Bella," he greets her before turning to his other visitor.

"Edward Cullen," he introduces himself and when Jack reciprocates and they've shaken hands, leads them into the sitting area. "I ordered drinks," Edward informs them, gesturing to the tray on the coffee table. "Would you like anything?" he addresses Bella.

"Just water, please," she says, wanting to kick herself for feeling and sounding timid. Edward unscrews a bottle of water, drops three ice cubes into a glass and, without asking, adds a slice of lime before he fills it and hands it to Bella. He stiffens, and her cheeks turn rosy pink as their fingers inadvertently brush.

Jack watches them with keen interest. He'd turned down Vince Tanner when he'd offered him the assignment. "I can't stand celebs. They always end up being a pain in the ass. Musicians are the worst," he'd commented.

"Masen's different," Vince had asserted.

"So, he's not an asshole?" he'd challenged.

"Not the kind you think. He's moody, sure, but isn't on an ego trip—at least, not from what I've seen," Vince had assured him, and Jack, because of their friendship dating back to Vince's time as a DA and his as an LAPD detective, had promised to 'think about it.'

He'd researched Masen, rock star, real name Edward Cullen, Vince had informed him, and learned that, at barely twenty-one, he'd shot to fame with his debut album and that his second had been equally successful. Digging further, Jack discovered that Masen, had, until that time, avoided the stories associated with many of the young, get-rich-fast celebrities he'd encountered in his line of work. Sometime after his second album release, Masen had embraced the high life. Jack wondered what had suddenly caused his changed behavior, evidenced in dozens of articles and photographs of him partying. Still, none were as bad as he'd expected or seen. Masen, as far as Jack could tell, had no DUIs, hadn't been caught pissing in an alleyway, snorting coke, beating up the paparazzi, or giving a girlfriend a bloody lip or black eye like some of his peers. 'The kid either has a damned good publicist, is exceptionally lucky, or isn't a complete asshole,' he'd concluded.

He'd met with Vince, and after hearing the washroom tape, Jack had decided that Edward Cullen, AKA Masen, _may_ be worth helping after all. He'd started by investigating Victoria Jones and had felt sympathy for the child, who, he'd learned from old neighbors, had had a crappy childhood. But he'd also discovered that Victoria had, even then, been spiteful and manipulative and, as she'd grown into adulthood, her behavior had worsened. 'She uses people' and 'she'll lie or walk over anyone to get what she wants,' had been recurring phrases used by people who'd known her. No one, it seemed, had liked or likes Victoria. Her only lasting relationship had been with James Nelson, her childhood friend turned boyfriend and then husband.

Victoria and James had married when just out of their teens, had lived together for seven years and, for the next five, had lived relatively separate lives. Despite their changed relationship, Victoria, it seems, had orchestrated James' modest success as a musician. Jack found it interesting that Nelson had been part of Masen's band; that he had, in fact, co-written songs on his third album, and that he'd featured in many of the stories about Masen's carousing. He'd wondered what hand Victoria had played in introducing Nelson and Masen, and what part, if any, Nelson might have played in the Dallas incident. He'd also wondered if the timing of Victoria and Nelson's divorce, soon after Masen's split with Arrius, had influenced their decision.

Jack had wanted to interview the pair, starting with Nelson, but he's touring and, given Victoria's current predicament and what he'd learned about her devious nature, Jack had decided not to warn her of his investigation. Not before he'd contacted the woman, Maggie, and before he did that, he'd wanted to hear Masen and Bella Swan's account of events.

Vince had related the details, of course, and Jack trusts his friend's judgment, but for him, second or third-hand accounts, no matter how accurate, can never compensate for hearing a story first-hand. Besides, he'd admitted at the time, Masen intrigues him. He'd wanted to find out if, and how much of an asshole the man is. Jack hadn't considered interviewing Bella, not until he'd heard the taped conversation. He'd admired her quick thinking and thought her responses to the other woman's bitchiness both classy and gutsy. And later, when learning about Victoria's demise, he'd particularly enjoyed the irony that the woman she'd called a mouse had initiated it.

He'd wondered about Masen and Bella Swan's relationship—an odd one for a rocker and a smart, soft-spoken lawyer, he'd felt. He could have met with them separately, but the detective in him had convinced him that he'd learn more by interviewing them together.

From the moment he'd seen the dark-haired beauty outside Masen's hotel suite, Jack's curiosity had skyrocketed. Bella Swan, he could tell, was nervous as hell, and he'd instantly pictured Masen being the arrogant asshole he'd first thought him to be. He'd pitied Bella, but he'd also worried that she might leave, and so he'd rung the doorbell. He'd stepped back and waited; waited to see what kind of man Edward Cullen, AKA Masen, really is.

Jaded by years on the force and cynical about almost everything, especially society's obsession with appearance and celebrity, when the door opened, Jack had grudgingly acknowledged that the man was good looking—damned good looking. He'd been pleasantly surprised to note a lack of arrogance. The scowl mentioned in the tabloids had been evident, but Jack had detected no signs of the indifference or sullenness portrayed in the photographs. The man had, in fact, looked like he was in pain as he'd stared at Bella. 'She may be nervous, but he's shit scared,' Jack had decided, and he'd wondered what, exactly, had caused those feelings in each of them.

And now, witnessing their stilted exchange, a sharp contrast to the familiarity and care with which Edward prepares Bella's drink and their reaction as they accidentally touch, he's more intrigued than ever.

"Jack?" Edward asks. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee, thanks. Straight," he answers and thanks Edward when he hands him the cup.

Edward pours himself a coffee, adds cream, and then sits back, cup in hand. His eyes drift to Bella, who's looking down, fiddling with her glass. A wistful expression crosses his face before he notices Jack's interest and looks away, his face settling into an impassive mask.

"How did you find Maggie?" he asks.

"I got lucky," Jack downplays his efforts and explains how, through Eva, he'd learned the name of the Dallas venue, how he'd then contacted the events manager to get the names of local technicians working that night, and how one, a lighting technician, had admitted to letting his second cousin, Maggie, in that afternoon.

"How do you know it's the same woman?" Edward questions.

"She told her cousin she met a record exec, who promised to introduce her to you."

"What else?" Edward asks, his voice thick with anger at the reminder of Victoria's scheming.

"Her name's Maggie Johnson. She has a nine-year-old son, Bobby, with her ex de facto husband, Robert Martinez. She and Bobby live in a one-bedroom

apartment in Hutchins just outside Dallas, and she stacks shelves at K-mart."

"And you haven't spoken to her?" Bella asks.

"No; I wanted to speak to you first," Jack tells both her and Edward. "The more I know before I meet her, the better."

"Vince and Patrick know everything. Didn't they tell you?" Edward asks tersely.

"They did, but I'd like to hear it from you," Jack answers, unruffled by his irritation.

Edward sets his coffee on the table, the rattle of cup on saucer emphasizing his resentment at having Bella hear the story _now_ when she'd adamantly refused to listen before.

"Where do you want me to start?" he asks Jack, and Bella, aware of Edward's annoyance, plucks nervously at a non-existent thread on her skirt.

"Tell me about that day. Everything you can remember," Jack suggests, and Edward, frowning in concentration and studiously avoiding Bella's eyes, starts.

"I didn't realize it until recently, but things started getting weird days before," he admits.

"How?" Jack prompts.

"Victoria arrived unexpectedly in Nashville."

"Was that unusual—for her to just turn up?"

"Her job's about record sales not touring or promotional stuff, and she'd already attended the LA concerts; so yeah, it was very unusual."

"Did she say why she came?"

"That she wanted to check how we were doing, but that's crap. Victoria didn't care about anything that didn't benefit her or her career," Edward scoffs.

"Anything else seem odd?" Jack prompts.

"She kept telling me I looked like shit and needed to rest. I reminded her that the promoters had extended the tour and that we were _all_ exhausted. I also said I was sick of being cramped on a bus with ten people. She suggested I check into her hotel."

Bella stiffens at the revelation. "Did you?" Jack asks the question she desperately wants to but daren't.

"No," Edward says, and she sighs in relief. "I told her I'd be home in Philly in a few nights. She reminded me that I still had media interviews, and I told that Eva was fine with it and to mind her own damned business. She stormed off."

Edward explains that, after that night's concert, he, the band, and some of their crew had visited a club. "She was there," he says, adding that, still pissed, Victoria had avoided him and how, when she'd disappeared, he'd assumed that she'd returned to her hotel and then LA the next morning. He describes his surprise when she'd arrived in New Orleans, their next stop. Her mood had changed from pissy to conciliatory concern as she'd, again, commented on his tiredness, suggesting that there was 'stuff that can help.' He tells how he'd refused and how, even more out of character, Victoria had fussed about him needing to eat and how she'd produced enough hamburgers to feed the entire bus.

"How long before Dallas was that?" Jack asks.

"We arrived the next day," Edward says.

"And Victoria was there?"

"Yes. Anyway, that afternoon after our sound check I wanted to call Bella as usual but couldn't find my phone," Edward continues, still ignoring her presence. "I looked everywhere. Half the crew searched for the damned thing—even Victoria looked." He fumes, scowling when remembering Victoria's concern and assurances that it would turn up.

"Did you find it?" Jack asks.

"The next morning, under my bunk mattress," Edward says, and when Jack asks, recounts the night before—the packed venue, the pumped audience, how he, James, Liam, and Alec, hot, sweating, and high on adrenaline had entered their dressing room where Victoria had greeted him with a cold beer."

"Bottle?" Jack asks, and Edward nods. "Open?"

"Yes."

"What about the others—did she serve them beers?"

"She had them lined up on the drinks table, but I didn't notice if they were open," Edward reveals.

"She planned everything, so they probably were, and yours was probably already drugged, that's why she held it. So it wouldn't get mixed up with the others."

"Fucking bitch!" Edward spits, nearly suffocating on his loathing for Victoria and bitter disappointment in himself for falling into her trap.

Bella's also mad at Victoria, but mostly with herself for not listening to Edward before. Victoria's mocking accusation about her not being strong enough to fight for Edward returns to haunt her.

"What about Maggie? Was she there?" Jack drags both her and Edward from their destructive thoughts.

Edward lifts his head. "I remember Victoria introducing her to us and then security letting in fans and signing autographs. Nothing after that," he says, his frustration evident. "I woke up in Austin the next morning. Our tour manager told me that our driver found me passed out in the dressing room and that the two of them carried me onto the bus. When I spoke to the band, James said that Maggie talked to me, but I don't remember that either. All the guys said they left me in the dressing room with her and Victoria, but she insisted they were too drunk to remember that she and Maggie left before them.

"Later…after Bella told me what she'd seen," Edward continues but doesn't reveal details of their conversations or acknowledge her. The rough edge to his voice, however, betrays his feelings, but, while Jack sees his anguish, Bella, flooded with guilt, hears only accusation. Her eyes sting with unshed tears, and she bites her lip so hard, she tastes blood as Jack prompts and, bit-by-painful bit, the truth she'd refused to hear unfolds.

"Thanks, Edward," Jack says at last, and Edward, feeling raw and on edge, leans back and shuts his eyes. A second later, he opening them and stares straight into Bella's distressed face. He tears his gaze away, jumps up and, on the pretext of making a phone call, escapes to the bedroom. There, he paces as he fights to calm his chaotic thoughts.

In the living room, Jack offers to order a fresh pot of coffee. "I'm sure Edward won't mind," he assures Bella.

She clears the lump lodged in her throat. "I'll stick with water, thanks," she tells him.

"Well, I'd like coffee," Jack smiles reassuringly as he lifts the house phone. "Ten minutes. Edward should be back, and you can tell us what you remember then," he tells her when replacing the receiver. "

"Sure," Bella says, despite her stomach twisting at the thought of regurgitating all that hurt. She's even more anxious about how Edward, in his current state, will react to hearing everything again.

Jack tries to engage her in conversation, but Bella, acutely aware of every minute of Edward's absence, responds half-heartedly. Five minutes pass, and then ten. The coffee arrives, and still, he hasn't returned. Five minutes later, Jack, slightly annoyed, suggests they start, and Bella starts her tale. Halfway through, he offers to get Edward, but she stops him. "He heard it…a week ago," Bella says, her voice despondent as she admits how she'd rejected Edward's attempts to explain. Jack nods sympathetically and urges her to continue her account of that night. A few moments later, Edward appears and, without any apology, takes his seat and listens, stone-faced, to her closing words.

Jack thanks Bella, and stands. "I'll be in touch when I've contacted Maggie," he tells Edward and turns to Bella. "Edward will fill you in on what I learn," he says and then, before either she or Edward can respond, leaves.

Jack smiles as he boards the elevator. The door slides shut, and he chuckles when remembering their shocked faces. 'Well,' he thinks, 'maybe they'll talk now.'

Stunned by Jack's sudden departure, Edward and Bella stare at each other. The air between them becomes charged, tension mounting until Edward, with what appears to be considerable effort, averts his gaze.

'Leave or stay, leave or stay?' Bella wonders, staring at his profile; hoping he'll turn and say or do something to help her decide. He doesn't. 'Go,' her brain screams, but her heart resists. It just won't let her leave. Edward, meanwhile, is also on a knife-edge, teetering between his plan to distance himself from Bella and the urge to vent his frustration at her.

Bella can't bear the tension. "I'm sorry," she blurts, and, like gasoline to a smoldering flame, Edward explodes.

"Sorry for _what,_ Bella? For what Victoria did? For not listening to me, or for not believing that I could never—that I _would_ never—have cheated on you? What, exactly, are you sorry for? He demands, his voice breaking.

Bella's tears that had threatened before spill over. "For everything," she says, her voice equally choked. Edward groans, tugging at his hair.

"No; _I'm_ sorry. I was out of line. After what you saw, you had every right to do what you did. It's just…" He curses under his breath. "I'm sorry, okay? You should go." He turns away.

"Just what, Edward?" Bella pleads. "You weren't out of line," she says when he doesn't respond. "I should have trusted you. If I'd known…" Bella stops, her voice catching.

Edward spins around, glaring. "What do you want from me, Bella? Do you want me to forgive you? Okay—I forgive you!"

"Yes, I hope you'll forgive me, but I certainly don't want you to say it just to get rid of me!" Stung by his derision, Bella's temper stirs.

"Get rid of you?" Edward scoffs. "You mean like you got rid of _me_?" he demands, thumping his chest with a clenched fist. "I tried and tried to talk to you. I fucking begged you, Bella! I would have done anything for the chance to explain—even if I didn't know exactly what happened. I just wanted to _explain_ , but you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't even give me the five damned minutes I begged for. Still, like the fucking moron I was, I kept turning up on campus, hoping for that chance. Even when I had to return to LA, I tried. I called, I texted, and you didn't answer, not a word—not once! You broke my heart. You broke my fucking heart!" Edward thunders and storms off. Bella watches, her heart wrenching when, suddenly, he stops, chest heaving as a barrage of emotions—anger, resentment, despair, and longing—consume him. And then, just as unexpectedly, he moves forward, pulls Bella's body flush with his and captures her mouth in a punishing kiss.

Edward groans, the sound a mixture of anguish and relief, when, after a second's shocked resistance, Bella parts her lips. He deepens the kiss, and she sighs. A thousand unspoken words, seven long and painful years' worth are exchanged as hands tug and caress and tongues twist and mold. Anger turns to passion and passion to longing as they kiss and kiss until Bella, the first to succumb to the need for air, pulls back and whispers Edward's name. He blinks and, seeing her flushed face and ravaged mouth, pales. "Fuck!" he mutters, stepping back. Fuck!" he says, out loud this time. "I'm sorry, Bella. I should never— I'm sorry," he repeats before walking into the bedroom.

Shaken, Bella sinks onto a sofa. She can't fathom how, after that kiss; after what she'd felt, what she's sure he'd felt, Edward could regret it. She's still processing when he returns, stopping a foot away. His usually smooth voice rasps when he speaks. "I truly am sorry, Bella. Shut the door when you're ready to leave," he tells her.

The click of the door galvanizes her into action. Bella jumps up from the sofa, races across the room and out into the hallway. She stops when seeing Edward's retreating back. "Edward!" she calls, and he freezes for a heartbeat before he keeps walking. "Please!" Bella puts every ounce of her regret into the word. Edward takes one…two…three steps and stops. And then he turns.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I suspect this chapter didn't deliver what quite a few readers were hoping for or expecting. I'm not deliberately leaving you hanging. These two will get there in time. I don't believe that after what they've been through—at Victoria's hands and of their own making—that they would or could resolve their problems quickly or easily. It's just not realistic. So, stow the pitchforks, please. ;)  
**

 **Also, I'd like to reassure the reader who emailed me and anyone else who may be concerned. This story is most assuredly not on hiatus. I'm just up to my ears right now, as I've already explained. I'm getting the chapters out as fast as I can, I promise.**

 **And finally, thank you to the ladies at The Lemonade Stand for recommending Unplugged. Thank you to any new readers who have joined our crazy train. And, as always, thank you to my loyal friends and readers who have stuck with me from the beginning.**

 **Take care, everyone.**

 **Shenda x**


	28. Chapter 28

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

 **Unplugged Chapter Twenty-Six**

* * *

The seconds until Edward turns feels like an age for Bella, and yet, when he does, she finds herself tongue-tied. 'Think… _think_ ,' she tells her fumbling brain.

And Edward, who'd cursed himself for being weak when stopping, berates himself even more when looking into Bella's beseeching eyes. 'Idiot!' he calls himself when remembering how easily she'd rejected his pleas. Those memories, however, are overrun by recollections of their kiss—the feel of her lips, her breasts pressed to his chest; how longingly she'd whispered his name. No amount of determination to keep walking, not even the anger still crawling beneath his skin can counter them. 'Fucking moron!' he silently remonstrates.

" I…could we talk?" Bella interrupts his tirade.

Edward runs an agitated hand through his hair. "Please. Just five minutes," she asks, making his green eyes spark with anger. Bella mentally kicks herself for her poor choice of words. "I'm sorry. I know I don't deserve it…not after how I behaved—" She stops, afraid of aggravating him further.

Edward looks up at the ceiling; a hand still clutched in his hair. A nerve in his jaw tics spasmodically as a moment, and then another passes before, looking equally frustrated and resigned, he retraces his steps and enters his suite.

Shocked and confused by his sudden action, it takes Bella a few seconds to realize Edward's granting her request. She finds him in the living room, back and shoulders stiff as he stares out of the window. "Can we sit?" she asks somewhat timidly. Edward silently turns and crosses the room. He waits until Bella sits on the sofa before occupying a nearby chair. Determined not to let his closed-off expression discourage her, she clears her throat and takes a deep breath.

"I truly am sorry," she says, drawing a scowl from Edward. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I need you to know how much I regret everything. I was heartbroken too, Edward, by what I saw…what I _thought_ I saw. I felt betrayed and humiliated, and by the time you returned, I was hopping mad. But I should've listened." Her voice breaks as she wipes away a stray tear.

For the first time since apologizing for kissing her, Edward's stance softens. "I accept your apology, Bella, and I'm not just saying it to get rid of you. I don't blame you for believing what you saw." He pauses, contemplating his next words. "What hurt was that you wouldn't let me explain; that you could so easily believe I'd cheat and then lie about it. I've never lied to you. _Never,_ " he repeats, his voice rising. Realizing it, Edward stops and mentally counts to ten. His next words are unplanned, and his voice when he utters them is thick with hurt and betrayal. "You know, others have asked, and I've asked myself over and over if, in your place, I would've listened, and I honestly believe I would have. Maybe not at first, but I would have—even if only to learn why— _how_ , after everything we'd been to each other, you could have done that."

"I'm sorry. I let you down…let us both down," Bella's voice cracks again.

"I didn't say that to make you feel guilty. You wanted me to say what I think, so I did, but I don't want you to think I blame you because I don't, and you need to stop blaming yourself."

"But you thought it—"

"Bella, I thought all kinds of shit then," Edward interrupts and then hesitates, looking torn. Bella waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "But that's in the past," he says instead.

"I'd still like to know, and I'd like to explain—"

"What use would it do?" This time, Edward doesn't hide his frustration.

"I know it isn't fair, not after what I did, but I don't know how else to make amends—"

"You don't need to," he stops her again. "We both fucked up," he admits, his chest tightening when thinking about his part in causing what he considers their impossible situation. A beat of silence passes and a myriad of emotions flit across Edward's eyes before he speaks. "I don't know what you want from me, Bella, and, honestly, even if I did, I don't know if I can give it to you," he says.

"Can we at least try to be friends?"

"We can try," Edward reluctantly agrees.

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes," he answers after a long pause.

Thank you." Bella expels a shuddering breath, one she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and then, afraid he'll change his mind, gathers her bag and leaves with a subdued goodbye.

Edward watches her go, still not sure how or why he'd relented. He calls himself a moron several times over, and when, after an hour, he still feels on edge, he visits the gym and pounds a treadmill until his legs give in. Later, showered and changed, he calls Jake and arranges to meet him and some of their North Philly friends at a pub where they'd both gigged before. There, Edward tries to keep a low profile but, as inevitably happens, he's recognized, and several people interrupt. When the manager arrives, greets him effusively, and then suggests that he 'sing a coupla songs,' he agrees when the man, Chris, says he can use the performing band's equipment. "My nephew's the drummer," he explains.

"Three songs and you make sure we're left alone," Edward bargains.

"Done," Chris promises, and when the band takes a break, Edward, Jake, and one of their friends, Ty, also a guitarist, take the stage. The crowd claps and yells appreciatively, and when, after tuning their guitars, Edward strikes the first chords of Unapologetically Me, the place goes wild. He performs five more songs before thanking the audience and introducing Ty. "He's amazing. Watch out for his gigs around town," he tells them and waits until the clapping and whistling die down before continuing. "Some—hell, most of you already know Jake Black. He's officially playing with me now," he informs their audience before announcing his upcoming album and planned tour. "It's great to be home," he shouts over the noise and then, ignoring the calls for another song, waves and leaves the stage to thunderous applause.

True to his word, Chris ensures they're undisturbed, and for the rest of the night, Edward enjoys the company of people who knew him before he became famous. Like Jake, they're impressed but not overawed by his success, and, most importantly, they don't expect or demand anything from him. For a few hours he stops worrying about Bella, but later, when in bed, she fills his mind again, and again, Edward questions his sanity in agreeing to be friends. He imagines when and how he'll be forced to reveal his truth and pictures her disgust. He considers withdrawing his promise, but each time he does, memories of their kiss flood his brain.

Bella had left the hotel feeling relieved but somewhat deflated. She'd consoled herself with the thought that this time, rather than only promising to consider renewing their friendship, Edward had agreed to try. She clings to that thought, but two hours later, when Lia calls, she's still feeling down. Glad to have someone to talk to, Bella reveals everything that happened that evening. "He kissed you and came back to talk. That says a lot," Lia tells her.

"I know. It's just—"

"Just what?"

"Edward's so angry and closed off. He says he doesn't blame me, but it feels like it," Bella explains.

"Bella, he said he doesn't. Believe him," Lia advises, and Bella, remembering the last time she'd doubted Edward's sincerity, feels ashamed.

"Maybe if you do what he says and stop blaming yourself you'll actually believe that _he_ doesn't," Lia adds as if reading her mind.

"You're right. I just don't know what to expect or how to deal with this new Edward," Bella confesses.

"You've talked twice. You can't just expect things to go back to the way they were," Lia points out.

"I don't," Bella protests, but Lia continues.

"It doesn't matter if either of you yells or cries, or even walks out. Keep communicating. Masen took a big step today, which means he wants things to change. Remember that."

"He came back because he's polite," Bella argues, but Lia cut her off.

"Hey! Stop with the negativity," she says, and then, with a gleam in her eye, asks about the kiss.

"I dreamed about kissing that mouth before I knew about you and him, and the only way I'm going to know if my imagination came close is if you share," she adds when Bella ignores her.

"I'm not telling you that stuff!" Bella tries to sound firm but can't help blushing.

"Not even when you have hot make-up sex?" Lia teases.

"Shut up!" Bella's face flames now. "There'll be no sex. We agreed to be friends; that's all."

Lia's grin widens. "Three months! Three months before you're crawling all over each other," she predicts and then, taking pity on her friend, changes the subject.

The next morning, Bella types a message thanking Edward for talking and repeats her wish to be friends. _I hope we can talk more, and I'd love to hear about your album. Everyone who's heard it says it's fantastic,_ she writes and, after agonizing about how to end, settles on, Have a great day and then, before she loses her nerve, presses send. Three nerve-wracking hours later, he replies with, _Thank you. Enjoy your day too._

Bella chokes down her disappointment that Edward hasn't acknowledged the rest of her message. 'At least he answered,' she consoles herself and the next day, sends another message wishing him a lovely day. Edward responds in the same polite, yet detached tone, but she persists, and each morning, for the next four days, sends the same message.

Edward always responds but doesn't, once, mention anything personal. Bella finds it increasingly hard to stay optimistic, and, one day when feeling particularly disillusioned, she tells Lia she's decided to stop texting him. "Let me see," Lia waggles her fingers, demanding Bella's phone. Rolling her eyes, she hands it over and watches Lia scroll through her messages.

"He's answering sooner and sooner," she points out.

"He isn't," Bella argues, but Lia shoves the device under her nose. "Check the times between your texts and his," she orders.

"I didn't notice." Bella smiles.

"No, you were too busy second-guessing yourself. Don't give up so damn easily. Hang in there," Lia advises, and, hard as she finds it, Bella does. Her perseverance pays off the following Monday when Edward sends more than his standard reply. _Thanks. You too. I signed documents securing my master recordings this morning. Thanks for that also, Bella_ , the message reads.

Elated, she types, _I'm thrilled for you and no need for thanks_. She's even more delighted when, ten minutes later, her phone pings with another message, _You made it possible, so, yes, it's necessary and deserved_. Bella thinks about calling but resists. _You're welcome_ , she texts instead, and when Edward doesn't answer, reminds herself to be patient. Over the next few days, she follows the same pattern, and, gradually, Edward opens up. On Sunday, he shares that he's been for a run, on Monday, that he's still in New York, and on Tuesday, that he's 'messing around' in his studio. For Bella, each revelation sparks a dozen questions about his life, but she doesn't ask; she reciprocates with snippets of her own instead.

On Wednesday, for the first time in days, he doesn't immediately respond, and her spirits sink. No amount of self-chastisement can pull her out of the slump. "Why so miserable?" Lia demands when they meet for lunch.

"I'm not miserable."

"Bullshit! Is Harrison being an asshole?"

"No!" Bella smiles because Harrison is anything but.

"So what's up?"

"Nothing."

"You're a hopeless liar, Bella."

"I'm just being stupid," she shrugs, and when Lia stares expectantly, she confides that Edward hasn't answered her text.

"Has he ever _not_ answered?"

"No."

"Then why worry? He could be busy."

"I told you I was overreacting," Bella answers, reluctant to confess the truth—that she's afraid, no, terrified, that Edward may be with a woman and that she may have lost him forever. She's too embarrassed to admit that she'd Googled him, avoiding the past and focussing only on the time since he'd returned to the East Coast. She'd been relieved, ashamedly so, when finding no evidence of a relationship, but the possibility still bothers her.

Lia, though, has lost interest in their conversation. She's staring over Bella's shoulder while sporting an almost wicked smile. Curious, Bella turns her head, her breath catching when seeing Edward. It takes a moment for her to register Jasper's presence, and several more to realize that Lia's speaking but, for the life of her, she can't decipher the words.

Edward is listening, seemingly attentively, to Jasper. His eyes, however, are restless, roaming the room until they land on Bella. He smiles, purely involuntarily, and it's that smile—the one Bella had always considered hers exclusively. A rush of happiness floods her senses but recedes just as quickly when Edward schools his expression. He's still smiling, but it's polite and friendly and laced with caution.

Lia's snort, loud and exaggerated finally penetrates Bella's brain. "So goddamn stubborn," she mutters, and then, before Bella can anticipate or prevent her actions, she waves.

"Jasper!" she calls as if he hadn't already spotted them or noticed Bella and Edward's interplay. "Join us," Lia invites as the men reach their table. Jasper's glance shifts between Bella and Edward before he answers. "We're in the middle of something. Just stretching our legs and picking up burgers," he says, but Lia insists.

"You can spare a minute. Sit!" She pats the seat beside her. Jasper relents, and Lia smiles, even more satisfied when noticing Edward's eyes narrow as Jasper slides in next to Bella. He hesitates and smiles briefly at Lia before taking the remaining chair.

"Bella," he greets her when seated. "How are you?"

"Fine…thanks." Bella's cheeks flame under Edward's gaze, and before either she or he can say more, Jasper interrupts. "Hi," he says, and Bella turns her head, embarrassed to find him also watching her closely.

"Umm, hi. When did you get back?" she asks.

"Last night. I was hoping we could catch up over coffee," Jasper replies, and Bella, acutely aware of Edward's presence, answers hesitantly. "Sure. Just let me know when."

Lia, who'd enjoyed watching Edward's jaw clench during the exchange, suffers a pang of conscience when realizing her friend's discomfort. "It's great to see you again," she tells Edward before Jasper can worsen the situation.

"You too," he returns, and Lia, never-at-a-loss-for words, Lia, is struck momentarily dumb as, for the first time, she experiences the full impact of Edward's incredible green eyes.

"Lia—I work with Bella," she says when gathering her scattered thoughts. "How's the album?"

"I remember—and it's going well. Release next week, and media interviews kick off tomorrow when the first single's released."

"Here or New York?"

"LA. Masen flies out today," Jasper interrupts, his eyes again flitting between Edward and Bella. Caught off guard by the news, she drops her eyes to her lap. Lia can't tell if she's hurt or disappointed. 'Probably both,' she decides and glares at Jasper, feeling a sudden and overwhelming urge to kick him. 'Shins or balls?' she wonders, and then, seeing the satisfied glint in his eyes as he stands and announces that he and Edward should go, imagines aiming high.

"Same place, three-thirty," Jasper tells Bella, who watches in dismay as Edward, stony-faced, also stands.

'Definitely his balls,' Lia decides, and, when Edward wishes both Bella and her a cool goodbye, imagines doing the same to him.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted you two to talk," she explains as soon as the men are out of earshot. "On the positive side, Masen thinks something's going on between you and Jasper, and he doesn't like it," she says, trying to comfort her friend.

"I don't want to talk about it right now. Can we go?" Bella asks, and Lia, looking more apologetic than ever, agrees.

Edward and Jasper, meanwhile, are making their way back to Jasper's office. "She's really something," Jasper comments.

"Who?" Edward feigns ignorance.

"Bella. You were childhood friends and then dated?"

"Yes," he answers tersely.

"What about now?"

Edward stops, forcing Jasper to do the same. "What, exactly, are you asking?"

"If you intend dating Bella again."

"Do _you_ want to date her?"

"Maybe."

Edward walks, ignoring the statement until they enter Jasper's office. He waits until Jasper sits and then, still standing, speaks. "Whatever happened, or happens between Bella and me is _our_ business. Do whatever the hell you want Jasper. Bella's more than capable of making her own decisions, but don't play fucking games with me—and _certainly_ not with her. Now, can we finish this meeting? I have a plane to catch."

"Sure," Jasper shrugs and unwraps his burger. Edward stares at him before he sits and also starts eating. Over lunch, the two pick up on business. Neither mentions Bella or their exchange, and neither, it appears, holds a grudge as they debate the merits and then agree to conduct the joint media interview. Their meeting ends soon after, and the men shake hands, arranging to catch up the following week.

Walking back to his hotel, Edward ponders Jasper's comments and the events leading up to them. He'd been surprised and, honestly, pissed when Jasper had asked Bella for coffee. To him, the invitation had seemed extremely personal, and he'd wondered about the nature of their relationship. 'You have no right to be jealous,' he'd told himself, but still, his anger had simmered, worsening when Jasper mentioned his trip to LA, something _he'd_ intended sharing with Bella when answering her text. His morning, however, as he'd termed it, 'had gone to hell.' First, Steve, his producer had phoned for a lengthy chat. Then, immediately after, Eva had called with a proposal that he and Jasper conduct a joint interview. "Oh, and there are some changes to your schedule," she'd said about his LA trip. By the end of their conversation, Edward had been running late for back-to-back meetings at Sigel, the last being the one with Jasper. Thanks to his revised itinerary, he'd spent his journey from the hotel rearranging his plans with Chez and alerting Alice to the changes. He'd been ushered into his first meeting on arrival and then directly into Jasper's office.

He'd felt restless, and the sense of missing out on something vital had only evaporated when seeing Bella. For a brief moment, their painful past had fallen away, and he'd forgotten why, over the past weeks, he'd resisted calling or seeing her. But, thanks to Jasper, reality had returned. Still, he'd decided to speak with her before leaving Sigel, but Jasper had changed that also—with his coffee invitation, and then by declaring his interest in her. Despite his anger, Edward couldn't and still doesn't blame Jasper because Bella is, after all, a free agent. He believes Jasper and his business relationship will survive the incident. He's less sure about their budding friendship.

Back at his hotel, an hour later, just before checking out, he sends a text. _Flying out at 5 back on Tuesday. Take care of yourself._

Jasper also contemplates his actions. He hadn't planned on provoking Edward. When inviting Bella for coffee, he'd reasoned that he was, in his words, 'just puttin' a rocket up his ass.' 'We've gone out for coffee before,' he'd thought. Now, he acknowledges that he may not have completely given up on Bella, and, because of that, he'd overplayed his hand. He also admits that he'd wanted to know Edward's intentions toward her, and while he hadn't gained that knowledge, he's convinced that Edward still cares for her—his warning had made that clear. No one had spoken to him like that in years, but Edward's forthrightness and lack of concern about damaging their relationship had only deepened his respect for the man. The question now,' Jasper wonders as he prepares to meet Bella, 'is what happens next?'

. . . . .

While Edward jets his way across the country, Jasper watches Bella stare pensively into space, the second time in the last forty minutes that she's drifted off during a lapse in their conversation.

"You're very quiet," he says, pulling her from her thoughts.

"Sorry; just thinking." She smiles apologetically.

"Somethin' botherin' you?" he asks, and Bella shakes her head, smiling again, but the emotion doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Tell me about your trip," she suggests.

Jasper wonders if he should challenge her; if he should reveal his feelings or not but decides against it. "We signed two new artists. Blair Jones is twenty- one and is studying music in London. She's performed at Reading and Leeds festivals for the past three years—that's where I first heard her, and Angus Brùn is Scottish; also twenty-one. He's been singing in pubs since he was eleven and, since seventeen, he's supported successful local bands on tours around the country. He released a track, Black and Blue, on U-tube last year and scored around twenty million hits," he shares instead.

"Do you visit a lot of music festivals?"

"I used to, and pubs and clubs, when I started out. I don't have time for that now, but, when any of our execs get really excited about someone, I like to check for myself. I like UK festivals and pubs especially because the Brits often bring somethin' different to the table."

"I've always wanted to travel around England." Bella sounds wistful.

"You should come next time," Jasper suggests, and she laughs nervously.

"Why would you want to take a lawyer with you?"

"I wouldn't be takin' a lawyer; I'd be takin' you, Bella," he says, holding her gaze.

"I can't," she answers.

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be right."

"Why," Jasper insists.

"I work for you."

"Bella, we don't have a no fraternization rule at Sigel. It just wouldn't work in our industry; not if you want to attract and keep the best people. I know you had reservations about the business and me, but you've been with us for months, and you know me better. Do you still feel that way?"

"No," Bella readily admits.

"Then why can't you come to London with me? Are you dating anyone?" Jasper asks, and Bella stares dejectedly at her now cold coffee before looking up.

"No," she says.

"Then what's the problem? I like you, and I think you like me. We'd have a great time." Jasper smiles, and Bella can't help responding. His smile, however, doesn't touch her bone-deep, doesn't make her breath hitch or her heart race. "You _do_ like me, don't you?" he asks, deliberately keeping his voice light.

"Yes, I like you, but not in the way I think you mean."

"Lots of relationships start with friendship," Jasper points out and, when Bella blanches, curses himself for being insensitive.

"You're right," Bella agrees before he can apologize, "but not every friendship is destined for a relationship."

"And you don't think ours is?"

"No. I'm sorry, but I don't," Bella answers, her voice sure.

"I respect your honesty, Bella, and I hope I haven't messed up our friendship, but I had to try. I hadn't met anyone in years who I thought I could have a relationship with until you started at Sigel."

"We're friends, Jasper; I hope we'll always be," Bella answers sincerely.

"Sigel's lucky to have you," Jasper returns just as meaningfully and then, wanting to lighten the atmosphere, jokingly adds, "You know, I'm not used to being turned down."

For the first time that day Bella shows genuine mirth. "It's good for your overinflated ego. You're much too cocky; I thought that the first time you spoke to me," she tells him, suppressing a giggle. "And don't think I missed that you said _after_ you started at Sigel. That just proves you were only interested in a casual fling!"

Jasper laughs too. "You handed me my ass; I admired that," he admits.

"Maybe you'll fall for the next woman who does the same," Bella says.

"Maybe," Jasper agrees.

Around the same time, nearly fifteen hundred miles away, Jack Kent approaches the auburn-haired woman he'd been watching for days. And, an hour later, in Los Angeles, Victoria is knocking impatiently on James' door.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **This chapter, for many reasons, kicked my butt, quite a number unrelated to my muse, who had gone on strike; something she hardly ever does. My dear friend, Coppertop, pulled me off the proverbial ledge—not only about my writer's block but the other 'stuff' happening in my life right now. Thank you, gorgeous girl!**

 **Welcome to any new readers and, as always, a special thanks to my loyal and long-term readers for sticking with this story and with me. Our troubled lovers are slowly but surely getting there :)**

 **I've rushed posting this chapter and the mother of all headaches is threatening, so please forgive any errors I may have missed.**

 **Take care everyone. Until next time,**

 **Shenda xxx**


	29. Chapter 29

**Unplugged Chapter Twenty-Seven**

* * *

"I don't want trouble," Maggie tells Jack.

It's the third time since he'd approached her that she's uttered the phrase.

The first had been after he'd introduced himself and asked if she knows Victoria. "N…no! I don't want any trouble," she'd stammered then.

"If you don't know her, why would you think she's trouble?" Jack had challenged, and, before she could respond, he'd asked about the night she'd attended Masen's concert. "Maggie, your cousin Ben's already said he let you in and that you boasted about meeting Victoria. I want to know what you two had planned and exactly what happened in that dressing room," he'd demanded.

"I don't…nothing happened," she'd protested, but her expression had betrayed her lie.

"You can talk to me or to the police," Jack had delivered the ultimatum, and after again stating that she didn't want trouble, Maggie had accompanied him to a nearby coffee shop. There, he'd stressed the uselessness of lying. "Victoria confessed that she drugged Masen, and several witnesses will confirm you were there that night," he'd informed her. Ashen-faced by then, she'd revealed how, when hanging around the tour buses hoping to see Masen, Victoria had approached her and how, when she'd confessed to being his 'biggest fan', Victoria had promised an introduction.

"There must have been dozens of fans hanging around. Why'd you think she singled you out?" he'd asked.

"I thought she was being nice," Maggie had responded, explaining how Victoria had shown interest in her life, especially Maggie's troubles with her ex. "I thought she liked me," she'd said, and Jack had scoffed inwardly because, by all accounts, Victoria is incapable of liking another female.

"Victoria's already admitted her part. How did she get you to help her?" he'd prodded, and Maggie had explained how Victoria had arranged to meet her backstage at ten that night and how they'd watched the rest of the concert from the wings. Then, when Maggie had thanked her, Victoria had suggested she show her gratitude by helping her and Masen with a problem.

"Problem?" Jack questioned.

"Yes. Victoria said his ex-girlfriend wouldn't stop bothering him; that she turns up everywhere, embarrassing Masen, and, because they grew up together, he felt guilty that he couldn't be hard on her like he should. Victoria said I could help, but it would be better if he didn't know about the plan until after. She said he'd be grateful and promised to make it worth my while."

"Worth your while? How?"

"She said she'd pay me and make sure Masen spends time with me."

"She offered you money?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"A thousand dollars."

"Didn't you wonder why she'd pay that much?"

"I didn't think it was a lot—not for someone like Victoria."

"Did she pay you then?"

"No; after Masen's girlfriend left." Maggie squirms under Jack's withering gaze.

"Did you know Victoria was going to drug him?" he demands.

"No!" She shakes her head emphatically.

"Why did you think he passed out?"

"Victoria said he was probably drunk."

"Did he look or act drunk when he came off stage?"

"No."

"How long was he in the dressing room before he passed out?"

"An hour, maybe less."

"Did he drink a lot in that time?"

"Not really; not as much as the others." Maggie had looked pleadingly at Jack. "I _didn't_ know she was going to drug him," she'd said, and when he'd remained silent, she'd again whined about not wanting trouble.

"I have a son. I don't want trouble, "she'd added a few seconds ago.

He waits for a beat to pass and then another, watching her squirm. "You should've remembered Bobby when you agreed to help Victoria commit a crime," he answers coolly.

"Yes, I know about Bobby. I also know about his father's threats to take him away. I know almost everything about you, Maggie, and what I don't know, I'll find out. So, if you're serious about not wanting trouble, you'll tell me everything about that night, and maybe if Masen decides to press charges, he'll put in a good word for you."

"I didn't know. Victoria said—" Maggie protests, but Jack cuts in.

"It doesn't matter what Victoria said. And I don't care how many times you say you didn't know she was going to drug him. You must've suspected _something_ was wrong! Why else would she offer you a thousand dollars?"

" I…I just wanted to meet him, and I needed the money." Maggie's lip quivers, but Jack ignores her distress.

"What happened when Masen entered the dressing room," he asks, and she tells how, when Edward had started his last set, Victoria had led the way to their dressing room, and when he'd announced the last song, she'd directed Maggie to help open beers for the band. "I asked if Masen would have one too, but she said she'd take care of him."

"Bottles or cans?" he asks.

"Bottles. Saison, I think."

"Did you see her doing anything suspicious to Masen's drink?"

Maggie shrugs. "I was watching the door, not her."

"Was anyone else in the dressing room?"

"No, just me and her."

"Did you see Victoria give Masen the beer?"

"Yes, when he came in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Maggie answers confidently, and then, when Jack questions her certainty, explains that, with the audience still clapping and yelling, Edward and the band had entered the dressing room. "They were high-fiving one another. Victoria told Masen he'd been amazing and gave him the beer." She describes how security had let fans in, and how, while Edward and the band had signed autographs, Victoria had changed the bottle in his hand with another.

"Did anyone else give him drinks?" Jack asks.

"Just James. He poured bourbon for Masen and the band," Maggie answers.

"Where did he get the glasses?"

"The drinks table."

"Did Masen drink the bourbon?"

Maggie nods, and Jack pauses, contemplating the possibility of James and not Victoria drugging Edward. He wonders what he could he have gained by destroying Edward and Bella's relationship. 'Not much but something to consider,' he decides. "Go on," he urges Maggie, who says that, when security had cleared all but a handful of fans from the room, James, drinking straight from the bottle, had pulled a female onto his lap and announced it was time for the 'real party' to start. She explains how, after a signal from Victoria, she'd jostled aside another fan to sit next to Edward and how, eventually, she'd straddled his lap and pretended to kiss him.

"Pretend?"

"Victoria said not to kiss him on the mouth or touch under his clothes," she reveals, sounding petulant.

"Did Masen object or stop you?"

"No. He was mostly passed out by then." Maggie fidgets, and Jack reminds her that he expects her to tell him everything. "If you don't want trouble," he warns.

"He mumbled something."

"What?"

"Bella," Maggie confesses, and Jack's expression hardens. He prides himself on being just, and, as an LAPD detective, he'd gained a reputation for being' a hard ass' but fair. 'Work the case, not the perp,' and 'nothing's fact until proven,' had been his mantras. As a private investigator, he still adheres to them. So, despite Maggie's role in Dallas, he'd been determined to reserve judgment because, unlike with Victoria, Jack hadn't questioned anyone about her other than her cousin—and he'd disclosed only basic facts.

Maggie's inability to acknowledge any responsibility for her actions and lack of remorse except for any trouble it could cause her had tested that resolve.

The excuse, 'Victoria said,' had started to grate on his nerves, and the absence of regret, in any form, had, for Jack, become more and more obvious. Experience and an innate sense of fair-mindedness had compelled him to accept how she, a single mother at barely seventeen, forced to sacrifice her young adult years, would crave excitement—how, on a night out, she'd jump at the chance of meeting a famous rock star. He'd even understood how, struggling on a minimum wage, she'd accept a thousand dollars. 'Who, in her position, wouldn't?' he'd rationalized. Victoria would have realized those things too, and she would, no doubt, have exploited them and manipulated the younger woman. Still, in Jack's estimation, that didn't absolve Maggie from blame, and, with her last confession, her lack of concern about the impact of her actions on either Bella or Edward, the last of his impartiality evaporates.

"Did you know he was talking about his girlfriend?" he demands.

"Yes, Victoria told me her name."

"Didn't you question her story then? Didn't you wonder why Masen would mumble his girlfriend's name if he wanted to get rid of her?"

"No; Victoria said—" she repeats, but Jack dismisses the excuse.

"I know what Victoria said. Tell me what happened next?" he snaps and listens, stone-faced, as she describes how, when the band and their hangers-on had left, Victoria, had detailed how and where she'd wanted Maggie positioned between Edward's legs, how she'd repeated what she expected Maggie to do and not to do. Victoria, she says, warned her that she'd be watching and then hid in a storage room next door. Jack pushes, and she explains that Edward, comatose had slumped on the sofa with his head thrown back and how, when Bella had entered as planned, she'd been on her knees with her back to the door, faking oral sex.

"I smiled at her like Victoria said," Maggie explains with still no hint of remorse.

"Did Bella say or do anything—to you or to Masen?" Jack only barely hides his disgust.

"No; she ran out."

"Did you undress Masen—put your hands in his pants—touch him at all?" he questions, pinning her with a glacial stare.

"No," she answers, her voice wavering, but she holds his gaze. Satisfied that she's telling the truth, Jack continues.

"What did you do then?"

"Victoria came back and paid me."

"Did she say anything?"

"She told me not to tell anyone what we'd done, or I'd be sorry. "Fans make up stories about Masen all the time. Do think anyone would believe you?" she said and that Masen would probably sue me; that he'd sued women before."

"Then what?"

"We left."

"You left Masen there?"

"Yes. Victoria said someone would find him."

"Did you see or speak to Victoria or Masen again?"

"I tried to see him the next time they played in Dallas, but Victoria stopped me," she says, explaining that Victoria had, again, caught her near the tour buses, and how she'd threatened to tell Bobby's father about what she'd done. "She knew his mother wanted to take Bobby away from me. She said she'd make sure I lose my job. I only wanted what she'd promised, you know? To spend time with Masen, but she said I'd never come near him again; that she'd destroy me. I believed her," Maggie tells.

"Is that all? Is there anything you didn't tell me?"

"That's all. Promise," Maggie adds, seeing Jack's stern expression.

"And you haven't heard from her since?"

"No. Do you think I will?" she asks nervously.

"Victoria's in a lot of trouble. I don't know what she'll do," he answers honestly.

"You'll help me, won't you? Tell Masen it was Victoria, not me?"

"I can't do that."

"You promised!" Maggie protests.

"I didn't promise anything. I advised you to tell the truth, and I said that if Masen presses charges, he _might_ put in a good word for you. Besides, it wasn't just Victoria was it? _You_ helped her."

"You could've refused," he interrupts when she protests. "And you could've warned Masen. You made choices, Maggie. You took advantage of a man when he was drugged, and you deliberately hurt him and his girlfriend. Like Victoria, you'll have to pay for your decisions," he tells her, and then, while she's still professing innocence, Jack gets up and leaves.

In his rental car, returning to the airport, he tries to shake off disappointment. He'd hoped that, by interviewing Maggie Johnson, to uncover new evidence, something tangible enough to guarantee Victoria being charged and, hopefully, convicted, but that didn't happen. He'd hoped, also, that, if they did end up in court, Maggie would prove a credible witness. That, he now believes, won't happen because, inevitably, her and Victoria's testimonies would come down to 'she said, she said,' and, based on what he's learned about Victoria, even without having met her, he knows she'd win that contest. Victoria had chosen her accomplice well. There is no record and no witness to their agreement, and no trace of the alleged one-thousand-dollar payment because she'd paid in cash.

The woman, Jack concedes, is as cunning and manipulative as everyone he'd interviewed about her had stated. He doesn't know how much luck or planning had played a part in Victoria choosing Maggie, or how much her vague resemblance to Bella had influenced her decision to single her out. Whatever her reasons, Jack believes she couldn't have chosen an easier or and better target. Victoria, he believes, must have thought all her Christmases had come at once when discovering Maggie's circumstances and then realizing that she was almost as selfish and uncaring about others' feelings as she is.

He consoles himself with two thoughts—that he can, at least, reassure Edward that neither woman had molested him and that he has yet to interview Victoria and James.

. . . . .

In Los Angeles, Victoria gapes at the blonde in James' doorway. The shock that had struck her momentarily dumb evaporates when her eyes land on the t-shirt that only just covers the woman's crotch.

"Who the hell are you?" she spits, her eyes narrowing when, seemingly unconcerned by her hostility, the woman leans casually against the doorjamb.

"I'm Abby. What do you want Victoria?"

"Good; you know who I am. Now, get out!" Victoria brushes past her to search for James. She finds him naked and reclining against his headboard.

"Missing this?" He grins while stroking his very obvious erection.

"Put some fucking clothes on!" she snaps just as Abby enters and, sashaying across the room, slides onto the bed, drapes herself over James' chest, and, in the process, exposes herself. Victoria grimaces. "Didn't I tell you to leave?" she asks, her lips thinning into an angry sneer when Abby, ignoring her, plants an open-mouthed kiss on James.

"Get rid of the slut, or I will!" Victoria threatens, and James, clearly enjoying her reaction, unhurriedly untangles himself from Abby, and smirking at Victoria, palms her breast.

"Give me ten minutes," he tells her, and when she pouts, roughly tweaks a nipple. "Ten minutes!" he says, authoritatively this time. She gets up, making sure she gives him an eyeful. James rewards her with a resounding slap on her bare cheek. "When I'm done here, that ass is mine!" he announces, slapping it again. Abby shoots him a seductive smile over her shoulder and walks away with an exaggerated sway her hips. She stops in front of Victoria. "I'm not his slut," she informs her, "I'm the next Mrs. Nelson," and then, deliberately bumping Victoria's arm, departs.

Victoria glares at James, who still hasn't covered himself. Snatching a pillow from the floor, she hurls it into his lap.

"Don't trust yourself?" he goads.

"Get over _yourself_!" she returns. "What are you doing letting that slut wear a t-shirt I gave you—one you wouldn't even let _me_ wear? And why the hell do you let her think you'll marry her?" she demands.

"That shirt's five years old, Vic. Why the fuck would you care about who wears it? You stopped caring about me years ago, and we're divorced, remember? I'm finally moving on, and I _am_ marrying Abby."

"Bullshit! You're just saying that to spite me."

"I'm done playing games with you, Vic. What're you doing here, anyway? You can't just come and go as you please anymore."

"We'll discuss your supposed marriage later. Right now, we need to talk about Masen—"

"Leave it alone. Leave him alone, Victoria. You're fucking lucky he didn't go to the cops."

"I need a job, James. I just need to talk to him, ask if he could get Aro—"

"Why the hell would Masen want to help you? Because you fucked a few times? _You_ need to get over yourself. He only touched you when he couldn't think straight—"

Trembling with rage, Victoria yells. "Screw you. You're just jealous."

"I'm over being jealous. I'm over our fucked up relationship, and I'm over being used. I'm over you."

"I didn't use you. You'd still be playing shitty pubs if I didn't help you. And, for the record, you'll _never_ be over me. You've chased after me since I was thirteen!"

"Keep thinking that if it makes you feel better. You forget I was in this business before you even thought about getting into it, and I've been doing okay— good even—without you. And yes, I chased you. We both had fucked up childhoods. We understood each other, and we helped each other. I loved you, Vic, and I thought you loved me too, even though we showed it in fucked up ways. But the way you went after Masen? I realized then that you didn't love me. I wondered if you'd ever loved me, but it doesn't matter now. I've moved on. You should too."

Victoria argues, but James interrupts. "You know, he and I argued about lots of shit, and I was jealous, I admit, but I liked and respected him. I should've told him what you did."

"Should've, would've, could've," Victoria mocks. "You haven't moved on, James. You're still the same! No ambition. I motivated you; I got you the good gigs, and I gave you a chance to record your songs. You screwed that up, not me!" she snipes, before softening her tone. "But I can still help you if I can get Aro off my back. Masen probably won't listen to me, but if you contact him; ask him to let me explain—"

"Victoria…" James gets up and grabs a pair of jeans from the floor. He slips them on, leaving his pants half undone. "I'm not contacting Masen, and I don't need or want your help. I've got a gig in Europe, and I'm leaving in a month. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fiancée to fuck," he tells her and, grasping her elbow, escorts her from the room.

"I'll tell Masen you helped me," she threatens.

"I've always had your back, Vic, but fuck with me, and the gloves come off. Trust me, you don't want that to happen. I know all the shit you got up to, remember? If that gets around, you'd have more to worry about than Aro and Masen. Now leave, before I let Abby kick your ass like she's dying to."

"She can try!" Victoria, bristling, shrugs out of his hold.

James laughs. "Oh, she'll do more than try," he promises. "She's a hellcat. A lot like you—except younger, of course," he adds and, with that cutting remark, wanders off, leaving Victoria in the living room, fuming with rage.

Desperate to retaliate, her eyes dart around and then, spotting his Stratocaster—the one he just had to have when Edward bought his—she picks it up and carries it to her car. There, she carefully positions it behind the driver's rear wheel, gets in, starts the engine, and reverses over it. Her mouth lifts at the sound of the satisfying crunch, the one she'd specifically lowered her window to hear. She changes gear, drives forward and then back, twice for good measure, before she collects what's left of the instrument. Returning to James' apartment, she drops the pieces on the doorstep. "How's that for hellcat?" she mutters and walks away.

That night, while Victoria alternates between cursing James and her fuming about her destroyed career, Edward lands at LAX. A short while later, carrying his Martin case and travel bag, with his eyes downcast and a baseball cap pulled low, he runs the gauntlet of ever-present paparazzi. He looks up when, over their shouted questions, a rumbling voice calls his name. "Bout time you got here," Chez greets him with a broad grin.

Edward's face lights up with pleasure. "Hey! I didn't expect you to meet me," he returns as they share a one-armed hug.

"Daphne woulda kicked my ass if I didn't," Chez chuckles, and then, scowling at the paps, suggests they 'get outa here.' Edward nods, eager to comply.

Outside, Chez leads him to a limo, which, when Edward stops and frowns, he quickly explains belongs to a friend and not to Arrius. Relieved to know that he's not beholden to Arrius or that his friend won't get into trouble, he relaxes in the front passenger seat, leans back and lets out a long, audible sigh.

"You could skip all that back there if you use the VIP lounge," Chez says, referring to the relatively new addition of a VIP arrivals facilities.

"I want to live my life as normally as possible," Edward responds.

"That sure as hell don't seem normal to me," Chez counters, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"It isn't, and thank fuck I don't get a lot of that in Brooklyn or Philly."

"So, you done with LA? Plan on selling your place?"

"I haven't really thought about it, but I probably should."

"Me an' Daph miss you Mase, but this town ain't good for you."

Edward turns to face his friend. "I miss you both too, and I'm grateful to you for keeping an eye on my place," he says, referring to the fact that Chez and Daphne pop into his penthouse occasionally to ensure the property management company maintains it well.

"I can't blame LA for the shit I did, but you're right, I shouldn't live here," he says after a moment's silence. "It wasn't meant to be permanent, anyway. I always planned on going back to Philly, but…." he stops, not wanting to get into his and Bella's relationship, past or present; at least, not now. "I love being in Brooklyn. It feels like home, you know?" he says instead.

"That's how I feel about Mississipi, but Daph's here." Chez shrugs as if saying 'what can a man do?' and Edward smiles at both at the gesture and hearing his friend refer to his home state as 'Miss-ippi.' His rich, deep voice and his Southern accent had been the first things that struck Edward when they'd first met. He'd found both strangely reassuring when arriving in a strange city, and, despite their many differences—their Mississipi and Harlem accents being the most notable—there'd been something about Chez that had then and still reminds Edward of Lou. He still can't articulate what it is, but much like Lou had done for him a child, the man beside him has become somewhat of a father-figure to the adult he is now. Silently, Edward acknowledges that he hadn't realized how much he'd missed him until he'd heard his voice and seen his smiling face inside the terminal.

"How is Daph?" he asks.

"Been drivin' me crazy askin' when you getting' here."

"Well, I can't wait to see her too. How about dinner tomorrow?" Edward suggests, listing the names of a few restaurants.

"I'll ask Daph, but you know how she loves feedin' you."

"And I'm a sucker for her cooking, but I wanted to thank you both for taking care of things for me."

"Like I said; I'll check, but that woman's stubborn as hell, so be ready to come to our place."

Edward laughs, reminding Chez that Daphne calls herself determined. "Alice'll be jealous. She still talks about Daph's fried chicken."

"Daph'll make sure she don't miss out. When's she get here?" Chez asks.

"Saturday and leaves with me on Tuesday. She wants to see you both too, so why don't we go out on Sunday?"

"Sounds good," Chez instantly agrees, and the pair spends the rest of the drive catching up on events in their lives. They touch, briefly, on the happenings at Arrius with Chez describing how Aro had torn up the place after hearing about Victoria's confession. "Even Mitch got his ass handed to him," he says.

"Does everyone know what happened?"

"Nah. I heard Aro tell Mitch he didn' want the real story gettin' round; just to say she messed up and can't be trusted. People are sayin' all kinds of things about her; not just at Arrius but other labels too, and no one'll speak to her. She tried to see Mitch and Aro, but security wouldn't let her in. She only stopped showin' up when they called the cops.

"You better watch out while you here. She can't find a job, and she's desperate. Ain't no tellin' what her crazy ass will do," Chez warns.

"She better stay the hell away from me, or she _will_ end up in jail," Edward responds.

"You change your mind about layin' charges?"

"No." Edward's frustration shows. "Unless Jack…the PI," he clarifies, seeing Chez frown. "Unless he learns something new when talking to this Maggie."

"Does it change things if she says Victoria drugged you?"

"Maybe, especially with the tape, but my lawyers believe that, in court, it could end up being one woman's word against another, both of them involved in the same crime. And about the tape, Victoria could easily say she lied just to upset Bella."

Edward explains again how, in Vince's opinion, only a positive drug test would guarantee a conviction. "I didn't even consider the possibility that someone drugged me. Why the hell would I? And even if I _had_ realized it, I would've had to get tested within twenty-four hours because the drug she supposedly used can't be detected after that time," he says through clenched teeth.

"You did nuthin' wrong, Mase. You were right to trust Victoria and Eclipse—they were supposed to be _your_ people."

Edward, huffing out a breath, thanks Chez. "I only just cleaned up the shit I caused, and then this happens. Don't get me wrong; it's good to finally know what happened in Dallas, but I want to forget it and get on with my life." He pauses, taking a calming breath before continuing. "If Jack doesn't find anything that my lawyers believe will get Victoria and, hopefully, Maggie convicted, I'd rather just move on."

Chez nods and, taking those words literally, changes the subject by asking about the new album. Edward visibly relaxes as he shares details of final mixing sessions, the songs he's especially proud of, and the four singles that will be released before his tour kicks off in Philadelphia.

"You and Daph should come as my guests," he invites, and Chez, beaming, says he'll check but that he's sure Daphne, like him, would love to. He says he can't wait to hear the album and is delighted when Edward says he's brought him a CD.

"You still releasin' discs?" Chez asks.

"A limited number for promotional purposes mostly."

"I like browsin' in a store; that's what appreciatin' music's about. First vinyl, now CD's—don't know what's happen' to the business," Chez complains.

"Relax, old man," Edward says, grinning when his friend scowls at him. "The business is evolving with technology like it always has. These days, people want to listen to music wherever they go and now, thanks to streaming, they can."

When Chez grumbles about kids not knowing good sound Edward points out that vinyls are making a comeback, citing both Sony and Panasonic's recent reintroduction. That comment sparks a discussion about sound quality and the simplicity of vinyl technology and ends with them comparing collections. By the time they arrive in West Hollywood Chez appears to have forgotten his gripe about the younger generation's taste in sound. He declines Edward's invitation to come up, explaining that his friend's expecting his car back, and then, after eagerly accepting the promised CD, departs.

Upstairs, Edward drops his bags in the living room before he pulls out his phone and then, sinking into a sofa, checks his messages. Unexpected relief and a good dose of pleasure flood him when reading Bella's name. He'd expected her to respond, but he hadn't realized just how anxious he'd been about how she'd answer his text until reading her words; _Thanks for letting me know. Have a great trip. I hope to hear all about it when you return._

He reads it several times before typing _You're welcome. I'm sorry you learned about LA the way you did. I wanted to tell you personally, but my day got out of hand. And yes, I'll share details when I'm back. Take care._

Deciding to leave his other messages until later, he drops his bag and jacket in his bedroom before wandering through the rest of the apartment. He lingers in the studio, where he runs a hand over the equipment, recalling how, with Steve and Jason's help, he'd planned and supervised every aspect of its creation. He remembers how excited and proud he'd been to be able to afford his own recording studio—more, in fact, than he'd been about buying the apartment that the realtor had assured him many celebrities would envy. He makes his way the kitchen next and forages through the fridge, where his face splits into a wide grin when seeing the dish of mac 'n cheese, Daphne's calls her special soul style recipe. Still too full from his airline dinner, he resists the temptation by promising himself a large bowlful later. He grabs a Coke, thanks also to Daphne's care, and returns to the living room. There, he lounges on a sofa and then, opening the remote-controlled drapes, stares out at the spectacular skyline, wondering how the place that had been home for so long lacks any sense of belonging. The reality, he concedes, is that neither LA nor the apartment, with the notable exception of the studio, had ever given him real pleasure or comfort. He decides, then, to sell the place and makes a mental note to get Patrick onto it.

His phone rings, and Edward smiles when recognizing the number. "I was going to call," he greets Alex.

"Well, I beat you to it. How was your flight? When did you get in?"

"Good. Chez picked me up, and I got here about forty minutes ago."

"That was nice of him. Is he still there?"

"No, but I'm seeing him and Daphne tomorrow. Are you still on for Friday?"

"I'm looking forward to it. Have you booked anywhere?

"Not yet. I was thinking about Fig and Olive, Casa Vega, or Chateau Marmont as there'd be less chance of running into paps. You will be in Beverley Hills, won't you?"

"I'd planned on working from home on Friday, but that's not a problem. Any of those would be great."

"The drive to LA and back would be too much. I'll find somewhere closer or arrange a limo—"

"Edward," Alex stops him." I make the trip all the time. San Marino isn't the end of the world," she jokes.

"I'll book somewhere local," he says determinedly.

"Then you'll be traveling there and back."

"That's different. I might have been a fuck-up for a time, but I haven't forgotten my manners. Eva's arranged a car, so I might even drive."

"Stop bringing up your past. You know I don't hold it against you. Look, if you insist on traveling all this way, why don't I cook? You won't have to worry about the paparazzi then," Alex suggests.

"You can cook?" Edward pretends to be shocked.

"Yes; I can cook," she returns, pretending to be insulted.

" I hope you're good because Daphne'll probably cook tomorrow, so you'll have a lot to live up to."

"I think I can hold my own."

"I can hardly resist the chance to test your skills, now can I? Don't think I'll go easy on you, though."

"Do your worst," Alex challenges, and Edward laughs, saying, "We'll see," before asking if she's sure it isn't too much trouble.

"I'm sure," she assures him, and they agree on a time, and Alex promises to text her address. They discuss Edward's plans for the next two days before he mentions Alice's arrival on Saturday.

"I know she'd like to meet you. Maybe we can go to dinner on Saturday or even on Monday if you're in LA."

"I'd like to meet her too," Alex assures him, and, after chatting for a while, they end their conversation, and Edward makes two calls. The first is to Eva, who, once they've exchanged pleasantries, confirms that a driver will collect him at six-thirty the next morning, in time for his first radio interview at seven. "I could've made it earlier. The DJ's start at five," she says when he groans.

"You'd never do that to me. You value our friendship too much."

"Maybe, but don't ever forget that I can!" she mock-threatens. " You're due at KLOS at eight-thirty. From there, you'll go home, and I'll pick you up and we can drive to Burbank together," Eva says, referring to the studio where he's due to appear on a talk show.

"What car did you get?"

"You can have either an Audi R8 Spyder or a Q8."

"I'd love the R8, but it'll draw too much attention."

"Edward, you're in Hollywood, the home of flashy cars. Besides, the windows are tinted; no one will recognize you. "

"Until I get out or in. The Q8 will do," he decides. "When will you pick me up?

"Around eleven. That will give you and Ellen time to catch up before taping starts."

"Great. See you then," Edward hangs up and calls Alice, who tells him repeatedly how excited she about their time together. "Me too, Shrimp. I'll see you at the airport," he promises before telling her that Daphne's mac 'n cheese is calling his name.

"Save me some!" she demands.

"I'm not promising anything," he responds.

"You'd better," she threatens, and she's still promising bodily harm when Edward, laughing, disconnects their call.

The following day, he—and Eva when she joins him—race from one interview to another, stopping only for a brief lunch. Just after five, while driving her home, Edward declares himself 'talked out' but pleased by the response to news of the album and Lost, the single aired today. "I hope the others are as well received," he says about the three other singles scheduled for release in the weeks leading up to his tour. Eva, equally delighted, is especially impressed that the stations' switchboards had lit up even while Edward had still been on air. "I think this may be your best album yet," she predicts.

"We'll see," Edward responds noncommittally. In reality, he's as nervous as hell about this, his fourth album—perhaps even more nervous than he'd been about his first. Then, he'd had nothing to lose, other than yet another 'I told you so' from his father when and if he failed and returned to his stalled medical career. Now, he has both his self-esteem and musical reputation to re-establish. Aptly titled Full Circle, he sees this album as a chance, perhaps his only one, to remedy both his personal and professional mistakes.

Eva, who's grown close to Edward since becoming his manager, knows and understands his emotions, pats his shoulder. " _Everyone_ will see," she confidently states.

At home, he checks his messages. The first text he finds is from Bella, wishing him a great day. _My day was successful—we think. Hope yours was too. I'm seeing Chez and Daphne for dinner,_ he tells her, and, in the middle of responding to another message, receives a reply. _Say hi to them from me._ _What a coincidence, I'm at dinner now at Talula's Garden with Mom and Dad. He took us there, remember?_

Edward does remember that night, all too well. He'd been shocked and thrilled when Charlie, who treasured his 'alone time' with his wife and daughter, invited him to join them to celebrate Renee's birthday. For him, the gesture had, finally, been a sign of the approval he'd longed for from his girlfriend's father and also a much-wanted acceptance into the heart of the Swan family. He remembers how, then, he'd dreamed about eventually, through marriage, becoming a permanent member of the family.

Edward dismisses the bittersweet memory, concentrating instead on answering Bella. _I will, and I do. Hope the food's still as good. Enjoy! Say hi to your parents too. Talk soon,_ he tells her and then, after answering a few more messages, including one confirming lunch with Patrick the following day, wanders into his suite to shower and change for dinner.

An hour later, he arrives at Chez and Daphne's and has barely locked the car door when they appear on the porch. Daphne throws her arms around Edward the moment he ascends the last step. "You look so damn good! I missed you, and I want to hear everything you've been doing since you left," she says, and then, still clutching his arm, leads him into the house.

"You gonna let me greet him, woman?" Chez, trailing behind, demands.

"Quit whining and get the drinks," she returns, and Edward can't help smiling as Chez, muttering under his breath, ambles away to the kitchen and returns with a laden tray. "Sweet tea or fresca," he offers, referring to the pineapple and coconut concoction Daphne had introduced him to before and which he'd thoroughly enjoyed. "Or, you can have a beer, if you want?"

"No thanks. I don't care what the Sanctuary's doctors say; I'm not ready to take that step. Besides, I've missed Daphne's fresca. Don't let me stop you from having one, though," he tells them both.

"I'm okay with this, and Chez doesn't need a beer. Just look at that gut!"

"You love this, woman." Chez pats his belly with both hands, and Daphne rolls her eyes. Edward's grin widens as he soaks it all up— their banter and cozy home, settling over him like a comforting blanket. He remembers the happy times he'd spent in this place, listening to their interaction and basking in their friendship while sitting around Daphne's kitchen table, gorging on delicious Southern and Latino foods that, like the drinks, reflects the couple's backgrounds. The night lives up to his fond memories, and, when Edward announces that it's time to leave, Daphne produces a container of fried chicken and another of potato salad. She waves off his thanks, telling him to make sure he saves Alice some.

On Friday morning, between radio interviews, Jack calls, wanting to update Edward on his meeting with Maggie. "I can't talk now, but I'm meeting Patrick at Wolfgang Puck's at the Bel-Air at one. Why don't you join us? I'll text him to see if Vince can make it too," he suggests, saying, that way, everyone who needs to, will be in the loop.

Jack instantly agrees. "One thing I'd like to confirm now, though. Neither of them touched you in the way you worried about. It doesn't excuse what they did, but I hope knowing that helps," he adds, and Edward, sounding relieved, thanks him.

"It does," he assures Jack, who before saying goodbye, offers to call Vince, saying that he'd intended to update him anyway.

Vince does make the meeting, and he, Patrick, and Jack are seated at a secluded table when Edward, who, thanks to having to drive across town, arrives nearly fifteen minutes late. With apologies and greetings out of the way, they waste no time in ordering, and, as soon the food's been served, he asks Jack to fill them in. He starts by recapping what he'd learned about Maggie's background before traveling to Dallas and then relates, in detail, his conversation with her. Vince and, occasionally, Patrick ask questions. Edward, however, is quiet throughout, his clenched jaw the only outward sign of his growing anger.

"Do you think she was telling the truth?" Vince asks when Jack finishes.

"I do. She's a piece of work, though."

"What do you mean?" Edward finally speaks, and Jack shares how Maggie hadn't once expressed remorse for her actions or how they'd impacted either Edward or Bella. "She's only worried about herself," he says, expressing the view that, should they end up in court, any halfway-decent defense lawyer would realize that and use it to his advantage. "He'll show her up for what she is— not that smart, flighty, and selfish. I haven't met Victoria, but, from what I've learned about her, I'd bet if it came down to her word against Maggie's, she'd run rings around her," he concludes.

"I believe you, but even if that weren't true, we still don't have a watertight case; especially, if, as you say, James Nelson could've drugged Edward, "Vince answers before turning to Edward.

"We'd be pushing it uphill to convince a prosecutor let alone a jury, but, if you want to pursue the matter, I will."

Edward scrapes his fingers through his hair, a clear sign of his agitation. "I'm finding it hard to give a fuck anymore. I'd love to see them pay, but it doesn't look like that will happen. James, too, if he was involved, but, somehow, I don't think he was. He's an asshole, who's into drugs, and we've had our differences, but that's not his style. Either way, I don't want to deal with this shit or wallow in it any longer—not if we don't have a chance of putting them away. I have an album to release and a tour coming up, so thank you all for trying, but I think it's time to move on. " he says, looking around the table.

"I'm happy to push this, Edward, but I don't want you to have unrealistic expectations," Vince counters, but Edward shakes his head, saying the negative publicity a trial would bring isn't worth a fine and a slap on the wrist.

"I'd still like to interview Victoria and James and do some more digging and maybe keep an eye on her. Who knows what I'll find," Jack suggests. "It's worth a shot," he says when Patrick expresses doubt.

"She's desperate, and when Victoria's pushed into a corner, she lashes out," Edward intervenes, and relates Chez' feedback, including the warning about Victoria trying to contact him while he's in town.

"Does she know you're here?" Jack asks.

"If she didn't before, she does now. Photos of him arriving were splashed all over the tabloids and the internet, and he's been doing interviews," Patrick informs him.

"If she causes trouble, let me know, and I'll talk to my friends at LAPD. Arresting her for stalking would be a good start," Jack tells Edward.

 **. . . . .**

Just after seven that night, Edward pulls into Alex's driveway. He stops when exiting his car to appreciate the Spanish-style architecture and the lush garden before striding to the front door and ringing the bell. Dressed in a long casual, flowing dress and flat, barely-there sandals with her hair loose and framing her face, the woman who opens the door is a far cry from the stitched-up professional he'd grown accustomed to seeing.

"You look great," he greets her and, after she invites him in, hands over the flowers he'd stopped to pick up. "Esme says it's better to send flowers the next day, but she also says it's rude to arrive empty-handed." He shrugs half apologetically.

"It's a sweet gesture, Edward, and they're gorgeous. Thank you. I should put them in water. Want to see the kitchen?" she offers, and Edward follows eagerly, admiring the whitewashed walls, high arches, dark timber floors, and the relaxed yet elegant décor on the way. "This place is terrific. How long have you lived here?"

"About six years. It's been updated in that time."

"I like what you did," he responds just as they enter an impressively equipped kitchen. "Maybe you _can_ cook," he teases Alex, and then, sniffing the air appreciatively, admits that whatever's she's making smells good.

"I hope it tastes as good. You have a lot to live up to, you know."

"What _did_ Daphne cook yesterday?" Alex questions as she opens the fridge and produces a jug. "Virgin margaritas. I assume you're still avoiding alcohol?" she asks and when Edward confirms the assumption, she offers a list of other non-alcoholic choices including water and white or red wine.

"The margaritas look great," he decides.

"Sit," she motions to the row of stools at the central island before delving into the fridge again, this time to retrieve two salt-rimmed glasses and a bowl of sliced limes. She hands him his drink, takes a sip of her own, and quirks a playful brow. "Daphne?" she prods, and Edward describes empanadas filled with chicken, black beans, peppers, and cheese and what Daphne had called her grandmother's 'stovetop ribs.' He practically drools at the memory of those, and when Alex rolls her eyes, tells her that Daphne had made fresh churros while he and Chez had sat at the kitchen table. He details the three dipping sauces she'd served with the pastries; two chocolate, one spiced with cayenne pepper, and the third, caramel.

"Still confident?" he challenges, and Alex, busy arranging flowers, pauses with a stem poised mid-air.

"Very!" she asserts before nestling the bloom amid the others and smiling in admiration. "They really are beautiful," she says and thanks him again as she places the vase in pride of place on the island. "I spend most of my time in here. I even work from here instead of my office when I'm home," she explains. While Alex finishes her cooking, they chat, catching up on the past two days. That discussion naturally leads to Edward's tour. "How do you feel about being on the road again?" Alex asks.

"I'm excited about performing live again, but that's not what you're asking is it?"

"I _am i_ nterested in your music, Edward. I think it's brilliant, but you're right, I'm also asking if you feel strong enough to cope with the stresses and temptations of touring. I'm asking as your friend, not a therapist."

"I know, and you know I value your friendship." He sighs, running a hand through his hair before continuing. "Alice worried about the same thing…probably still does," he adds wryly. "So I'll tell you what I told her.

"I survived my first and most of the second tours without doing drugs or getting blind drunk. I fucked up after Dallas; I don't have to tell you how badly, but things are different now. I'm different. I have my head and life together, and I've surrounded myself with responsible people, so no bad influences there—not that I blame anyone else for my stupidity. I haven't taken drugs, and I haven't smoked a joint. Hell, these days, I won't even take a headache tablet, and, as you know, I haven't touched alcohol since entering rehab. I've been out for ten months, and I honestly haven't wanted either. Talking to Dan regularly helps, and I'll keep doing that while on the road. I think… I know as long as I stick to what I've been doing, I'll be okay.

"Eva's also helped by making sure we have enough breaks in our schedule, including a week off before starting our international tour. She'll also travel a few legs with me, and Alice is joining me in London. That'll help with the boredom, and I'll keep in touch with Dan."

Alex nods. "Just remember I'm also in your corner. You can call me anytime."

"Edward thanks her sincerely, and then, tired of talking about himself, asks what he'd believed to be an innocuous question— how she, a single person with a thriving practice in LA, ended up living in a five-bedroomed house in a city popular with families. He regrets it instantly when Alex's smile drops.

"I didn't mean to upset you. Forget I asked," he tells her.

"No, it's okay. It's time I told you anyway," she assures him and then, taking a shuddering breath, starts talking and, with her very first words, shocks him.

"My fiancé and I bought the house."

Edward hadn't known what to expect, but that had been the farthest thing from his mind. Questions, so many, rattle around in his head but Alex is still speaking, and so he listens as she explains that her fiancé, Gabe, had just gained an associate professorship in Caltech's engineering department; how they'd looked in Pasadena but that he'd liked San Marino, and how, when seeing the house, he'd fallen in love with it. She describes their excitement and plans to renovate, and how Gabe, thirty-two, nearly six years older, had wanted, eventually, to fill the house with children.

"We planned on renovating before getting married. We'd only just finished the living room and the kitchen when it happened.

"He started getting headaches that just got worse and worse." Alex takes another deep breath, and Edward, sensing her next revelation, leans across the counter to grasp her hand. "He died two weeks after the day we'd planned on getting married."

"I'm sorry—so sorry." He squeezes, wanting to show his sadness at her loss and wanting, somehow, to convey the comfort that, from experience, he knows mere words can't.

Alex returns the pressure, her accompanying smile weak but grateful. " I…I should've sold the place," she continues. "But I couldn't even though I hated going upstairs.

"Too many sad memories," she answers Edward's unspoken question. "So I lived down here and buried myself in further study. It took me ages, two years to be exact, before I decided to finish the renovations. I wanted to make, at least, part of his dream a reality."

"How long ago—"

"Since I decided?" Alex cuts in. He hadn't meant that, but sensing that she doesn't want to dwell on her fiancé's death, agrees, knowing that her answer would reveal when he'd died.

"Two and a half years ago. The work took a year," she relates and, suddenly, laughs. "I'm sure that, wherever Gabe is, he laughs each time he sees how many of his ideas I ignored."

"Like what?" Edward probes, pleased to see humor and light return to her eyes.

"We disagreed on many things about the house—about decorating mostly; nothing major like which wall to remove or how big the rooms should be. He wanted brown leather sofas, and I wanted grey linen. He wanted black countertops, and I wanted white. I think he was always going to give in; he just liked a good argument."

"Well, he was a professor."

"He was." Alex smiles, nostalgic and accepting, and Edward, wanting to ease her sadness, changes the subject.

They eat on the patio at a tastefully set table for two. Alex's shrimp, scallop, avocado, and cilantro ceviche, followed by roast beef served with a salsa verde sauce, crisp, baked potatoes, and sautéed green beans, do, indeed, prove delicious. So does her pecan pie, and Edward offers praise throughout dinner.

Later, after he helps clear the table and they've settled on an outdoor sofa with coffee, he compliments her again. "That was a truly delicious meal. I always forget how much I miss a home cooked meal until I experience it again."

"Don't you cook?"

"Only the basics like grilling, and I make a mean grilled cheese but that's about it."

"No wonder Daphne spoils you."

"Maybe, and it's probably a good part of why, whenever she visits, Alice feels the need to feed me."

"Is she a good cook?"

"Pretty good, but she doesn't really enjoy it—probably because Esme didn't have a lot of time to cook. Diane, our housekeeper, did most of it. Her food was great."

"But not as good as Daphne, right? I mean, no one's food can possibly compare to hers," Alex jokes.

"I told you, dinner was fantastic, so I guess you're a good cook?"

" _Guess_?" she pretends to be offended.

"Well, I've only tasted one meal. You may be a one-trick pony."

"Are you suggesting I have limited talent?" Alex shifts to face him, and as she does, the split in her skirt opens to reveal a shapely thigh; something Edward can't help noticing. He stares, and then, catching himself, averts his gaze and clears his throat. "You have _many_ talents, Alex," he admits when, a moment later, he meets her eyes.

"Thank you," she says, her voice hitching while holding his gaze. The air stirs, swirling with palpable tension as Alex lays an open palm on his chest and leans forward, bringing her mouth within a hair's breadth of his.

Edward freezes, his mind and body locked in battle. The part that's fast depleting the blood from his brain jumps, literally, when her breath fans across his lips. His eyes and jaw clench at the images the sensation evokes. It takes every ounce of willpower he can muster for Edward to pull back, but he does, again clearing his throat. "I should go," he tells a now mortified looking Alex.

"Edward—" she murmurs, her eyes pleading.

"I don't want to do something either of us would regret, Alex. I'll call you, okay?" he says and then, before his body betrays him, leaves.

In his car, Edward spends at least ten minutes calling himself every kind of an idiot imaginable. A part of his mind screams at him for hurting a friend; demands to know why he wouldn't take the chance to build something with a smart, beautiful woman—one who knows about his fuck ups but still wants him. Another curses him for not, right now, being buried balls-deep in Alex. Breaking through the cacophony, a whisper, 'you know why,' grows insistently louder.

"Fuck!" He pounds the steering wheel several times before, forcing himself to calm, he inhales several deep, cleansing breaths that do little to ease his frustration or confusion but focus him enough that he starts the car.

For the thirty-minute drive home and for hours after as he agonizes over choosing certain acceptance and potential rejection, Edward's emotions run the gamut from uncertainty, to hope, and then fear and back again. Finally, as dawn breaks, he reaches for his phone.

Back in Philadelphia, where Bella is sound asleep, her phone lights up with a message. _I'm ready to talk._

* * *

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I apologize for the long delay in updating. I got sucked back into the corporate world for a specific project but, thankfully, I've extricated myself again.**

 **I thank you for your patience and welcome any new readers who've joined the Unplugged journey since the last posting.**

 ** **A special thank you to Coppertop :)  
****

 **And last, but most definitely not least—I'm sure many of you already know, but I couldn't on this, my first time back for over two months, not honor and acknowledge Judy (JudyBlue). Judy tragically lost her life in September. She was an exceptional person, who I had the good fortune to meet in 2016 while visiting the US. She was warm, passionate, gutsy, articulate, funny, and an excellent conversationalist as I discovered over lunch that day. I miss her, and I miss her eloquent words. I will continue to miss her positive presence in my life.**

 **Take care everyone,**

 **Shenda x**


	30. Chapter 30

**Twilight characters are and remain the sole property of Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement intended. Original characters, story, and plot lines belong to Shenda Paul.**

 **Unplugged Chapter 28**

Having sent Bella the text, Edward had hoped for a few hours' sleep. His mind, however, refuses to cooperate. It swirls with thoughts of Alex's tragedy and how, so soon after she'd trusted him with her story, he'd hurt her. He ponders their next meeting, fully expecting it to be awkward, and worries that if his rejection tonight hasn't already destroyed their friendship, then the conversation they need to have surely will.

That possibility distresses Edward, but it's another more difficult and guaranteed to be excruciatingly painful discussion that keeps him awake. No matter how hard he tries to stop thinking about coming clean with Bella, his brain won't let him.

Just as he thinks 'to hell with it' and decides to deal with at least one of the things troubling him, his phone beeps, lighting up with Alex's number. Bracing himself with a deep breath, he answers, saying, "I was just going to call."

"I always seem to jump the gun where you're concerned, don't I?" she responds wryly.

"Don't," he tells her, injecting every ounce of regret he feels into that single word.

"Don't what, Edward? Admit how stupid I was to throw myself at you? How unwelcome you found it?"

"You weren't stupid, and you didn't throw yourself at me," he argues.

"You haven't denied the unwelcome part," she points out.

"I'd rather not discuss this over the phone, Alex. Can we meet?"

She doesn't immediately respond, and when she does with, "I'd rather not," she sounds so vulnerable, so unlike her usual self, that Edward feels like kicking his own ass.

"I'm sorry I left like I did, and I'm sorry you don't want to talk…" He sighs heavily.

"I know we should talk, Edward, but I need time."

"I understand. I just—I don't want to lose our friendship, and I do care, Alex. I want you to know that.

"I know, and don't worry, we're still friends. I hope we'll always be."

"Thank you." Edward breathes a sigh of relief, and then, given Alex's silence, reluctantly concedes that he should go. "I'll call soon," he promises.

"Not too soon, okay?"

"Sure," he agrees after another awkward silence and tells her to take care.

"You too. And Edward, there's something _you_ should know. You're a good man.

"You _are_ ," Alex stops his protest. "Don't let anyone, no matter how much you love them, let you believe otherwise," she says and ends their call.

Edward tries not to feel disappointed and reminds himself that the conversation had gone well—better than expected. Still, he regrets that he didn't get to apologize properly or explain his actions. Although, based on her parting comment that he's sure referenced Bella, he suspects Alex already knows. All he can do, he decides, is to give her the time and space she'd asked for.

Soon, he's back to brooding about Bella, and he's still agonizing over the confession when his brain finally surrenders, and he slips into sleep. He wakes with a start three hours later and, when checking the time, thanks his lucky stars that Alice had insisted on arranging her transport from the airport. Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed, he calls Bella.

His pulse speeds as her phone rings, and he's in the process of telling himself to 'calm the fuck down,' when she answers with a low, 'Hi."

"Hey," he returns. "I hope I didn't wake you?"

"No, Mom already did that. I'm having breakfast with her and dad."

"I'll call back…." Edward offers but Bella, sounding almost panicked, interjects.

"No! Just give me a sec, okay?"

"Sure," Edward murmurs and listens to her tell parents she'll be right back. He hears Charlie mutter something about young people and phones and can't help smiling when Renee responds by saying he's the last person to complain about disruptive phone calls.

"Sorry about that," Bella apologizes a moment later, explaining that she'd stepped out of the restaurant.

" _I'm_ sorry for interrupting your time with your parents."

"I'm glad you called," she assures him, and then, nervously clearing her throat, mentions his text.

"I should've called then, but I didn't think you'd appreciate me waking you that early," Edward explains, not revealing that he'd worried that if he didn't act immediately, he'd change his mind. The truth is that, despite acknowledging that he still loves and wants Bella and after hours of agonizing over the pros and cons of baring himself to her, he'd feared another rejection. Even now, as she says he can call at any time and expresses relief and gratitude at the chance to talk, Edward can't shake that feeling.

"Really talk and listen. I have a lot to make up for," Bella tells him.

"You're not the only one who messed up, Bella, and you may change your mind when you've heard what I have to say," he warns and then sighs when realizing how harsh he'd sounded. "Sorry, I don't mean to be an asshole. I just think you should wait until you've heard me out before you assume blame."

"Okay?" he prods when she doesn't respond.

"Okay. I promise, though, that no matter what, I'll listen and try to understand."

"Don't make promises you may not be able to or want to keep," Edward responds, and she falls quiet again. "I want to work things out, Bella, but I don't want to take anything for granted. And I don't want you to keep feeling guilty or obligated to talk just because I'm ready to. You can say no."

"I want to work things out too."

"At least we're off to a good start then, right?" He says, deliberately injecting a teasing note into his voice.

"Right."

He can tell she's smiling, and the knowledge lightens Edward's spirit. "I was going to suggest meeting on Wednesday if you're free. I'm in New York for the rest of that week, but I'll be back on Monday. We could make it then if you prefer."

"Wednesday's fine."

"How about dinner? Around seven?"

"Sounds good."

"I'll arrange it and let you know," Edward tells her and, then, mentioning her waiting parents, says, "I'll see you then, Bella."

He hangs up feeling relieved and with a growing sense of optimism. That all too familiar feeling of dread that's dogged him since seeing Bella again and daring to imagine a reconciliation, still lingers, but he doesn't have time to dwell on negative thoughts, because moments later, his phone beeps with a message from Alice, saying she's ten minutes away.

He wanders downstairs, and almost as soon as her driver pulls up outside his building, Alice jumps out and throws herself into his arms. "I'm so excited to be here," she gushes, squeezing him tight.

"I'm happy to see you too, Shrimp." Edward playfully lifts her off the ground. He musses her hair when setting her down, laughing as he dodges a retaliatory swipe.

"I'll get that," he informs the driver, who's opening the trunk and tips him.

He groans under the weight of Alice's luggage. "What the hell do you have in here?" he jokes.

"Shut up! It isn't _that_ heavy. Use that!" She points to the telescopic handle.

"Those are for wimps." Edward squeezes her bicep and laughs. Alice aims a punch, but he catches her hand and, still holding it, wraps his arm around her shoulder.

His sister's exuberance and eagerness to get reacquainted with his neighborhood distract Edward for most of the day. "So different from Gladwynne," she comments while peering out of the window of Edward's favorite brunch spot. "I remember you shouting at Dad once that it's boring, and him calling you ungrateful," Alice tells him.

"I was never ungrateful. How could I be when the alternative was foster care? I loved lots about Gladwynne, but he always made me feel like shit, and I hated his condescension about my mother and where we lived. I hated the way he looked down on my North Philly friends. I mean…fuck! He's never struggled in his life."

"I didn't mean to upset you, and I know you don't like talking about Dad, but are you and he ever going to make up? "

"Probably not—not unless he makes the first move, and I don't think he will."

Alice tears up, and Edward reaches for her hand. "He didn't want me, Alice; his sense of duty forced him to take me. Maybe he did eventually accept me. Maybe he even loved me like Esme always said, but it didn't ever feel that way, no matter how hard I tried to please him. In the end, I realized it didn't matter what I did or what I achieved. To him, I'd always be the unwanted child. When he practically threw me out of the house, I swore I'd never force myself on him again. So, no, I don't see us making up."

Alice sniffs. "I just want my family to be whole, Edward."

" I know you do, and I'm sorry, Shrimp, but I can't go through that again."

"I get it." She smiles sadly. "Dad does love you, Edward. I see how he looks when Mom and I talk about you. He's sorry, and he misses you, but he's proud and stubborn—

"Anyway," she backtracks when seeing his growing agitation. "What I _wanted_ to say is that I'm thinking about getting my own place."

"Yeah?" he grins.

" I need independence."

"Are you having trouble at home?"

"No. Sometimes Dad just forgets I'm twenty-three."

Edward nods in understanding. "Buy or lease?"

"Buy, but not until I access my trust fund in two years. I'll probably lease first."

"I'll give you the money."

Alice's chokes down a mouthful of food. "I can't let you do that."

"You're not letting me do anything. I'm offering." Edward's eyes, meeting hers over the rim of his mug, are determined.

"Only if I pay you back."

"We'll discuss that in two years."

Alice protests, but Edward cuts her off. " I'm not arguing about this, Shrimp."

"Okay, but we will talk about," she says solemnly and then grins, so wide, it nearly splits her face before she lunges across the table to hug him. "Thank you! Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he laughs, untangling himself just as Ruby, the owner of the little restaurant, arrives to refill their cups.

"My big brother's the best, Ruby!" Alice practically squeals.

"That's how brothers should be. Right, Masen?" The woman winks.

"Right," Edward returns her smile, appreciating not only her comment but also the fact that she's serving them. Ruby, whose business like the vintage record-cum-coffee shop he frequents on most visits home had started serving Edward herself after a female server had hovered and then asked for a selfie with him. The normally jovial Ruby had sent her employee scurrying with a formidable glare and a sharp order to 'work out back' before apologizing to Edward. When he'd assured her that he was used to it, she'd retorted, 'not in my place!' and, true to her word, she'd ensured that, in her little restaurant, he was never again accosted. In return, no matter how much Ruby huffs and puffs in protest, he always leaves a very generous tip.

"So, where do you want to live?" he asks Alice when they're alone again.

"Queen Village, I think. It's the closest to the atmosphere around here," she says, gesturing outside. "Plus, it's somewhere Dad can't complain about too much."

"It's a great area. Have you looked at anything?"

"A couple to lease but not buy, obviously, but I'll start on that straight away." Alice practically squirms in anticipation, and Edward can't help laughing.

"Shut up!" She grins. "I bet you were just as excited about buying your first place."

"About my studio, yes," he nods. "Let me know when you find something. If I'm around, I'll go see it with you," he promises to her even greater delight, and for the next twenty minutes listens indulgently as she gushes about the kind of home she'd like.

"When are we seeing Chez and Daphne?" she eventually asks.

"Tomorrow. Tonight, I'm taking you and Eva to Providence. And, before you ask, it isn't a steak house," he tells her.

"Then Eva must've suggested it!"

"You're right," The smile slips from Edward's face a moment later when she asks, "What about Alex?"

"She can't make it."

"I was looking forward to meeting her. What about tomorrow or Monday?"

"Things are awkward between Alex and me right now," he admits and, after a moment's hesitation, decides to confide in his sister. Alice is shocked and visibly moved when hearing about Gabe's illness and death, and by the time Edward relates the rest of that night, she expresses both concern and disappointment.

"I don't get. I mean, I get why you left, but I don't understand why you won't at least try having a relationship—"

"Because it wouldn't work, Alice!"

"Why not? She likes you, obviously, _and_ she understands you, Edward. You must feel something for her or you wouldn't be this upset. What harm is there in trying?"

"I just told you! It wouldn't work, and it wouldn't be fair to Alex."

"Why wouldn't it—because she's older?" Alice scowls.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous! Alex is only four years older than me, and that's not why. I don't love her, Alice. Do you really think after what she's been through that it would be fair to start something when I can't love her?" Edward demands in return.

"I'm just trying to understand," Alice is apologetic now.

"I know, Shrimp." Edward sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, a sure sign Alice knows, that he's agitated. "Let's get out of here," he suggests and when she nods, wanders off to pay Ruby.

Their stroll back to the apartment is quiet with both brother and sister deep in thought until, just as they approach his building, Alice apologizes. "I just want you to be happy, Edward."

"I know you do." He wraps an arm across her shoulders and hugs her close. "We'll talk upstairs, okay?"

They do when settled in the living room and Edward admits that the reason he can't and won't start a relationship with Alex is because he loves someone else.

"Who?" Alice asks.

"Bella," he answers, making her jaw drop.

" _Bella_?"

"Yes." Edward's jaw tightens at her displeasure.

"Are you together again?"

"No."

"Then—"

"I know what you're going to say and how you feel about Bella," he interrupts. "I love you, and I appreciate your concern, Alice, but there's nothing you can ask that I haven't asked myself over and over. The answer's always the same. I still love her. I don't think I've ever stopped. Fucked up, isn't it? After all this time and after all the shit I did to forget her?"

Alice's heart aches at seeing her brother's uncertainty. The only times she'd seen him that openly vulnerable had been after one his epic arguments with their father and after his hospitalization when he'd confessed to his drug addiction. The last time had been on the day he'd checked himself into rehab.

As soon as she'd been old enough to reason for herself, Alice had realized that Carlisle, despite how much she loves him, had treated Edward badly. She'd questioned both him and Esme. Both had assured her that she was mistaken, and that he loves Edward. When older, she'd confronted Carlisle again, accusing not questioning that time. Again, he'd denied being unfair. 'Edward's stubborn—too young and impulsive to know what's good for him,' he'd argued, and Alice, who hadn't wanted to believe their father would be intentionally cruel, had accepted his word. Chez' phone call about Edward's collapse and then seeing first hand just how far her brother's misery had dragged him down had forced her to acknowledge the truth. She'd faced their father again and had, in no uncertain terms, told him just how badly he'd failed his son. She hadn't, as she'd promised Edward, revealed his drug problems or hospitalization, but she had accused Carlisle of driving her brother away. She still does and will probably always hold Carlisle responsible, no matter how many times he—or Esme on occasion—had pointed out that Edward could have kept in touch. She has, however, forgiven him. He is, after all, her father, and she loves him just as she loves her brother.

While she blames Carlisle for driving Edward out, Alice holds Bella responsible for keeping him away. She understands, empathizes even with Bella's reaction in Dallas but struggles to accept that she didn't at least listen to him later. Alice believed that Bella hadn't truly loved Edward—certainly not as much as he'd loved her. She couldn't bear another person, especially someone he loved deeply, not caring for her brother the way he deserves. That's why, when hearing Bella's friends' remarks and then waiting in vain for Bella to defend Edward, she'd confronted them. And that's why, since learning about Bella working for Sigel, she'd been wary and worried. It's also the reason for her current concern because, for Alice, it's more apparent than ever that Edward still loves Bella, and that she still has the power to hurt him.

'Deeply,' she tells herself as indecision rages in he mind. She doesn't trust Bella with her brother's happiness, yet she realizes that she needs to support Edward—that he needs her to and so she quashes her feelings. "I don't hate or even dislike Bella. I hate how she treated you," she tells Edward, cutting off his protest with a wave of her hand. "I know you don't blame her, and I'm trying not to, okay? I promise to try harder, and I'll support you…whatever you want to do." Her voice cracks, and he, satisfied with her promise, nods.

They drop the subject then, and for the rest of the weekend, brother and sister make the most of their time together. They have a ball with Chez and Daphne, who arrive at the apartment laden down with a large container each of fried chicken and potato salad, and late the next morning as they tuck into Daphne's culinary delights, Alice is still gushing about her first visit to an authentic jazz club. At dinner on Saturday, to Edward's delight and despite their age difference and interests, Alice and Eva bond almost immediately. Mid-way through their entrée, the women are arranging schedules and sightseeing plans for the London leg of Edward's tour.

He's only just signalled for the bill when his phone rings. Frowning, he answers.

"Are you still in the restaurant?" Jack asks without preamble.

"Yes; but we're about to leave. Why?"

"Stay inside until I call you back."

"Why? And how the hell do you even know I'm at a restaurant?"

Victoria's been hanging around outside for nearly an hour, and a patrol car's about to arrive to take her downtown."

"Again, how the hell do you know this?" Edward demands irritably.

"I've got someone tailing her. I know you want answers, Edward, but I can't talk now. I'll call when I can."

"Do that!" Edward snaps and hangs up.

"What's wrong?" "Who was that?" Alice and Eva ask.

"Jack Trent. Victoria's outside," he says, still sounding annoyed as he relays the conversation but, when Alice looks ready to leap out of her chair, he can't help grinning at the image of his diminutive sister confronting Victoria. "Whoa, Champ, settle down." He tugs her back down.

"I'd join you, but I don't think that's the kind of publicity Edward's new album needs," Eva deadpans. "Besides, screw her. Let's not let that bitch spoil our night," she adds, and when Alice reluctantly smiles, grins back cheekily. 'Hopefully, the cops will scare the shit out of her," she says and suggests that she and Alice have another glass of champagne.

Half an hour later, Jack calls to say they can leave whenever they want because Victoria's been taken in for resisting arrest and that he's on his way to the precinct to see how it pans out. "It could be awhile before I know," he advises.

"Call whenever. Don't worry about the time," Edward tells him.

The women, when hearing the news, decide it's even better than they'd hoped, and insist on having another glass of champagne. It's well past midnight, and Alice is already in bed when Jack next calls. Victoria, he informs Edward, had been detained in a holding cell for an hour and a half and eventually released. He describes her as 'hopping mad' when she'd left. "She wasn't charged. The boys picked her up for resisting arrest as a favour to me." Jack explains that Victoria had argued but hadn't struggled. "Technically, they couldn't charge her. Now, if you'd had a restraining order, things could be different. I suggest you get one. With the tape and tonight's stunt on record it shouldn't be hard, and it would help if she keeps following you, " Jack suggests.

"I'll talk to Vince," Edward agrees before asking again how Jack had known his whereabouts.

"I've had someone tailing her," he admits and explains how, after their lunch meeting and especially after Chez' report about Victoria hounding Mitch and Aro, he'd arranged to have her followed.

"Thanks. Who knows what kind of scene she may have caused, and I don't know what I would've done if I'd seen her," Edward confesses in return. The men talk for another few minutes and then, promising to keep in touch, they end their call.

. . . . .

For Bella, the days between speaking to Edward and Wednesday feel endless. She'd returned to the restaurant to be met by inquisitive stares from Renee and grumbles about 'being starved' from Charlie. She'd appeased him easily with a kiss on the cheek. Renee, however, had proven another matter entirely. "Who was that?" she'd asked even before Bella had sat down. Huffing at the answer of, "A friend," she'd tapped her fingers and sighed impatiently while Charlie questioned their server about the daily special. "What friend?" she'd demanded as soon as the woman had left.

"Just a friend, Mom," Bella had countered, but Renee had persisted. "Do I know this friend?" she'd asked.

Luckily for Bella, Charlie had intervened, telling Renee to, "Leave it," and when she'd scowled, reminded her about constantly telling him that Bella's grown up. "Follow your own advice," he'd grinned cheekily at his wife's pursed lips and kissed her cheek.

Renee had waited until Charlie had visited the gents before striking again. "Why are you so secretive?" she'd asked Bella.

"I'm not, Mom. I'm just not ready to talk about it."

"Okay, sweetie. Just remember, I'm here if you need me," Renee had finally conceded.

On Sunday Bella, sick of going around in circles in her own head, calls her mother, and, for the first time, reveals everything. Renee's outraged, becoming increasingly angry as Bella describes the washroom scene with Victoria. By the time she learns that Victoria isn't in jail where, in her opinion she belongs, Renee's fuming. "Why not? You're a lawyer, for goodness sake. Can't you do anything?" she demands, and it takes Bella five minutes to remind her mother that she'd not a criminal lawyer and to explain that Edward has excellent legal advice.

"Vince knows what he's doing. He's an ex-prosecutor," she finishes, and Renee, who huffs disgustedly, calms down only when Bella explains the negative publicity that a trial—no matter what the outcome, she stresses— would bring. "What do you think that would do to Edward?" she asks.

"Well, it doesn't seem fair—not to him, and not to you! That…that woman hurt you both."

"What she did to Edward was criminal. And yes, she hurt us, but I let her win." Bella's voice hitches with the confession.

"Oh, sweetie," Renee sympathizes but can't deny that, rightly or wrongly, Bella had played right into Victoria's hands. "You did what you thought best, and you can't change the past, but you can make up for it. Have you apologized to Edward?"

"Several times," Bella admits and elaborates.

"It's understandable," Renee comments about his anger in the coffee shop and again during Jack's interview at his hotel.

"Oh my!" she gushes when learning about his outburst and then passionate kiss.

"Oh dear!" She's crestfallen when Bella explains how he'd left.

"Mmm," she murmurs approvingly when learning about Bella's daily texts and how he'd become more and more responsive.

"So, that was him on Saturday?" she questions, sighing with satisfaction when Bella confirms her suspicions. She's even more thrilled when learning why Edward called.

"Don't get too excited, Mom. Things might not work out the way you think," Bella cautions and repeats Edward's warning to her.

"Why not? Is he married?" Renee demands.

"I don't know." Bella doesn't mention her torment about the possibility of a secret marriage or a love child. Over the years, her mind had conjured up dozens of variations on those themes, and she'd had many nightmares about them. Each time, since returning to Philadelphia, that Edward's admitted to 'messing up', those fears, resurfaced and she'd pushed them aside. On Saturday, though, for the first time, he'd sounded more than serious. He'd sounded downright nervous, almost afraid—and that's what bothers Bella the most.

"You need to hear Edward out this time, Bella. You don't have to accept what he says, but you must _think_ before you act," Renee advises, her tone gentle, yet Bella can't help sensing a hint of chastisement.

"I know. I said I would."

"Well, that's all you can do now, sweetie. Just remember, I'm always here, and you can tell me anything. I love you."

"I know, Mom. I love you too and thanks for talking things through. It's helped a lot."

Bella does feel lighter, but in bed that night, one by one, the questions that have plagued her since Saturday return, and with them, her anxiety. On Monday when Edward calls to confirm dinner arrangements, excitement at seeing him again also takes hold. By Wednesday, she's a jumble of nerves, her state so apparent that both Lia and Harrison ask if she's okay. "Just busy," she tells them, and luckily for Bella, Lia, who at any other time would have challenged her, is busy. Their entire department is, thanks to a spate of contract renewals—something Bella reminds herself she should be focusing on rather than worrying about a conversation still hours away.

She forces herself to concentrate and though her mind still occasionally wanders, by five, when she leaves, she declares herself 'reasonably satisfied' with her efforts. Without the distraction of work, she's soon back to fretting, and by seven-fifteen, when entering Edward's hotel she's so nervous, so convinced this visit will end as disastrously as her last, she considers leaving. The decision is taken from her when a familiar voice utters her name. She turns, her pulse racing when meeting Edward's piercing gaze.

"Bella?" he repeats, questioning this time. "Are you okay?"

"Umm…yes," she mumbles, embarrassed by her momentary stupor.

"Sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," she answers, more confidently this time.

Edward nods. "Restaurant's this way," he says, resting his palm on the small of her back as he'd always done, and then, as if startled by his action, snatches it away. For Bella, Edward's touch had felt like a jolt to her nervous system. For the briefest of moments, before he'd withdrawn his hand, she'd revelled in the sensation. She chokes down disappointment and a deep sense of loss for their once shared closeness.

They cross the plush foyer in silence, and while Edward appears oblivious to the eyes following their progress, Bella's acutely aware, especially of the female attention. Some women glance surreptitiously while others blatantly stare. Almost without exception, the looks they give Edward are either longing or lustful or somewhere in between. For Bella, they're either envious or disparaging. She sighs. 'At least _that_ hasn't changed,' she thinks sourly.

She looks up and, seeing Edward's questioning brow, shrugs and offers an unconvincing, "Nothing." He frowns but doesn't challenge her as they've reached the elevators where a couple is waiting. Bella mentally rolls her eyes when the woman, seeing Edward, practically gapes. She's still staring when a ding signals opening doors, and inside, while pretending to focus on her companion, she continues to sneak peeks. The second floor can't arrive soon enough, and when Edward steps aside and holds the door for her, Bella, beyond irritated, does roll her eyes when passing the woman.

Witnessing the exchange, Edward graces Bella with a brief glimpse of the grin she hasn't experienced in years, not in person and certainly not in the dozens of photos printed in that time. Embarrassed again, she answers with what she hopes is a nonchalant shrug. Amused, Edward shakes his head and gestures in the direction of the restaurant she assumes. "Ignore them, Bella. I do."

"Easy for you to say," she returns.

"You still don't see it, do you?"

"See what?"

"The eye-fucking," he states bluntly.

"Of course I do! What do you think _that_ was?"

"Not the women; the men."

"Men?"

"Yes—who lust after you."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Since eleventh grade. Well, technically those were boys, but you know what I mean. Men have always wanted you, Bella. Even that fucker in the lift."

"It's never bothered you." Bella sounds almost hurt.

"You have no idea how many faces I've wanted to smash."

"You didn't anything," This time, there's with a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Because I trusted you." There's no hint of anger or condemnation in his tone, yet Bella can't help feeling guilty. They're silent again for last yards to the restaurant.

"Mr Cullen, good to see you again," the maître 'd appears to shake Edward's hand as soon as they enter. He casts Bella a welcoming smile and interested look.

"I've told you, Alfred, it's Edward, and it's great to see you too. This is Miss Swan."

"Welcome Miss Swan," he smiles directly at Bella this time before turning back to Edward. "I'll show you through," he offers.

When Edward had mentioned dining at his hotel, Bella had anticipated a secluded table in the main restaurant. She most definitely hadn't expected a private room with a table set for two. "I hope everything's to your satisfaction, Miss Swan, Edward. If you need anything at all, please tell Ben. He'll take care of it." Alfred motions to a man standing off to the side and introduces Ben as the hotel's assistant maître 'd, who'll take care of them for the evening. He excuses himself and leaves.

"Is this okay, Mr Cullen?" Ben asks as he ushers them to the elegantly set table. "Bella?" Edward checks and when she nods, declares it perfect.

With their water glasses filled and Ben's promise to return with menus, they're finally alone.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Bella tells Edward.

"I wanted somewhere where you'd feel comfortable and where we'd have privacy."

"Still…." she protests, glancing around the room and to the twinkling lights of Rittenhouse Square. "How many people would they normally fit in here?"

"Eighteen, I think, but that's not the point, Bella. We needed somewhere private, and my room didn't seem right..." he pauses meaningfully. The memory of that encounter makes her to quickly lower her eyes.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Edward tells her, his voice both reassuring and apologetic.

"Okay," she agrees, and then, in an attempt to lighten the mood, says, "You probably do things like this all the time."

"Actually, I don't. I prefer out-of-the way places."

"Fans don't bother you?"

"There's usually one or two in those places, if any. It's not like at a concert or anywhere they know celebrities hang out. Philly's okay, but New York's better. No one bothers me in my neighborhood."

Ben returns with menus and the wine list then and departs, allowing them time to decide. They spend the next five or so minutes discussing choices. "Would you like wine? Red or white?" Edward asks.

"What're you having?"

"I'll stick with water."

"I'll have water too," Bella decides, and when Ben takes their orders and leaves, picks up their conversation.

"Tell me about your neighborhood," she invites and listens, rapt, as Edward describes the shipping area and old warehouses, his home in the Old Dock Company premises, the colorful locals, and his favorite haunts.

"What about LA? Would you live there again?"

"Never," Edward answers emphatically to Bella's silent relief. "I'll visit for business and to spend time with Eva and Daphne and Chez, of course," he adds.

Bella's asking about Chez and Daphne when a waiter, accompanied by Ben, arrives with their food. For the next hour, they stick to light conversation— Bella's time at Sigel, her apartment, Alice's plans to own one, Edward's music, his interviews in LA—all while studiously avoiding the enormous elephant in the room. Gradually, they relax, smile more easily, their bodies unconsciously leaning into each other as they'd done since childhood until, over coffee, Bella describes the excitement in Sigel about his new album. "Dix and Mary, and even Jasper, I hear, are talking Grammys. You've exceeded your dreams. You should be proud."

The light fades from his eyes, and with it, Bella's smile as Edward subtly signals to Ben, who'd been hovering in case they'd wanted anything else, to leave them. Her heart sinks, knowing the dreaded moment has arrived. She wants to beg him not spoil their evening but her need to know is too great. She holds her breath instead.

Edward waits until Ben disappears before answering. "I'm proud of three of my albums, Bella, and I hope this one makes up for the last because it was shit. I was shit, and I'm definitely not proud of that time in my life. I fucked up so many things. Mostly myself," he tells her, his voice filled with so much self-loathing that Bella longs to comfort him. Before she can react, however, he continues, his next words shocking her to the core.

"I ended up in rehab," he confesses, eyes dark with shame as he reveals his increased drinking, how he'd accepted those first pills from Liam, how he'd taken them more and more frequently, and how without realizing it, he'd become addicted. Not once does Edward defend himself or try to excuse his actions. He doesn't fault James or Liam, or anyone else. He assumes all the blame, but Bella knows—knows—the part she played, and with each new revelation, her guilt multiplies.

She gasps when learning about Edward being rushed to hospital—the realization of how close he'd come to death, yet another blow to absorb.

She's relieved and thankful that he hadn't woken alone, and that Chez had contacted Alice. She listens with mixed feelings to the depth of love and gratitude Edward expresses when talking about his sister. She's thrilled by their reunion and evident new closeness but can't help feeling hurt that Chez hadn't called her—that she hadn't been there for him, and though she reminds herself that she didn't deserve to be, the feeling persists.

Bella's still struggling with the knowledge that Edward, who'd rarely been drunk and who had determinedly avoided hard drugs, could develop a Dexedrine habit, when he drops yet another bombshell. "That's not all," he tells her, his expression so pained, she blanches. "There were women—"

"Edward..." Bella interrupts but he stops her.

"Let me get it all out. Please?" he asks.

She nods even though every fibre of her being protests at the thought of the pain she's sure his confession will bring. A second passes and then another, each ramping up the tension until Edward, swallowing hard, takes a steadying breath.

"I slept around," he admits and, again, without sparing himself, reveals what he'd most feared telling Bella. For the next five minutes that feel like an eon, Bella listens, dumbstruck, as Edward, his voice frequently cracking just as Bella's heart fractures, talks. "I'm sorry," he murmurs when a tear rolls down her cheek, and again when she chokes back a sob.

"That's it. Everything. Now you know just how much I fucked up my life." Edward, looking drawn, straightens his shoulders as if steeling himself for a blow.

Bella tries to speak, but words won't come. She reaches for her water and sips, trying desperately not to cry.

"How many?" she eventually asks. "A hundred? Two hundred? Five?" Her voice hitches on the last word.

"No! Fuck!" Edward drags a hand through his hair before leaning across the table. She looks away. "Bella, look at me."

"Please," he adds when she hesitates. "I don't know the exact number. But it was nowhere near a hundred…not even close. I _swear_ , Bella. I've never lied to you, and I'm not lying now. I'll never lie to you." He holds her gaze, begging, willing her to believe him.

She nods because Edward has always been brutally honest, especially about his own shortcomings.

"Thank you." He exhales a breath he'd been unconsciously holding. "But, Bella, one, a dozen, or a hundred; the number doesn't matter because what I did was wrong, _so_ fucking wrong. I'm deeply ashamed, and I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

So many conflicting emotions course through Bella, so many thoughts swirl around her brain, and so many questions dance on her tongue, she feels crushed under the weight of it all. A single thought, her mother's advice, 'think before you act,' cuts through the chaos.

"Bella?" Edward's concerned voice pulls her out of her head.

"I…I don't know what to say," she confesses.

"Then don't say anything. It took me months of therapy to deal with my shit. Hell, I still go. I can hardly expect you to deal with it in an hour, can I? Take your time, Bella. As long as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

"Aren't you?"

"I'm tired of fighting my feelings. Look where it got me. So no, I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to," Edward assures her, and when she still looks uncertain, continues. "I want to work things out, but, like I said before, I don't want to take anything for granted. What happens next is entirely up to you."

Bella looks away, needing a reprieve from Edward's compelling gaze to think straight. "You're right," she says after an emotionally charged pause. "I need time, but would you answer some questions first?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Are you…do you still see women?"

"No, Bella. I haven't been with anyone for almost a year, not since before I started rehab."

"Will you tell me about it? Rehab?" she asks, and he explains how, waking up in hospital, he'd realized how damned stupid he'd been and how, while there, he'd contemplated rehab. Alice's fear of losing him had cemented his decision, he reveals.

Edward describes The Sanctuary, its philosophy, the recovery program, and the support team assigned to each client. He explains how physical exercise, running especially, had proven a useful distraction from craving and how it still is a release valve for tension. In rehab, he informs Bella, he'd rediscovered his passion for composing and writing lyrics, and shares that many of the songs on his new album had, in fact, been created while there. Two names recur as he relates his experience, people Edward claims were pivotal to his recovery; Dan, the head detox physician, and Alex his therapist. Bella can't help noticing, though, how frequently he mentions Alex. He ends with how he'd voluntarily extended his stay.

"I'm glad I did. The extra time helped, especially therapy because even though I'd gotten past the craving, I wasn't sure I'd dealt with the shit in my head."

"So this Alex, he really helped?" Bella questions and immediately retracts when regret flits across Edward's face. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked," she says.

"It's okay. I promised I'd tell you anything. Besides, I want you to know. Yes, she helped me. Alex—" He pauses, and Bella detects the hint of sorrow in his voice. "I was an asshole at first, but Alex pushed and made me realize things I hadn't before. She helped me see things differently."

His words are unremarkable, yet Bella senses something more—different, she observes, about his relationship with Alex. 'People share things with therapists they wouldn't with others,' she reasons but the feeling lingers. She's dying to know more about Alex but holds her tongue. "What things?" she asks instead.

"Whatever I say will sound like excuses, Bella, and I don't want you to think I'm trying to blame anyone else for my fuckups."

"Edward, I know you don't."

"Okay," he sighs, resigned, and then, taking a deep breath, starts talking. Edward's voice is even, his expression impassive as he relives first Lou's death and then his mother's. His eyes, however, the one feature he's never been able to mask, show every nuance of pain, confusion, loss, and when he describes his time in foster care, anger. Bella listens, her eyes and throat burning with growing intensity as he recounts Alex's assessment of his mental and emotional state during that time. In her opinion, Edward had felt lost and abandoned, and Carlisle's cold reception and parenting style had worsened those feelings. 'Rudderless with no safe place to land,' is how she'd described young Edward.

Growing up, he'd shared more with her than anyone else, so she'd known about his devastating losses. She'd grieved with and for him, and, for the longest time she'd believed that she understood Edward better than anyone. The realization that she hadn't is a bitter pill to swallow. This woman, Alex, had seen more and understood more. Listening to her insights, and then and seeing and feeling the events leading up to and after Dallas from his perspective Bella, for the first time, fully comprehends how her lack of faith in him and their love had dealt Edward yet another emotionally crippling blow. The drinking, the drugs, even sleeping around, while shocking and excruciatingly painful, become understandable. Not even Edward's frequent reminders that he and he alone is responsible for his actions —"all of them," he emphasizes several times for her benefit—can diminish Bella's awareness of just how much her actions had influenced his decisions. She's overcome with shame.

"I should have let you explain. I'm so sorry," she repeats over and over, her voice more broken each time.

"Bella, stop," Edward tells her, and when she says it once more, grasps her hand, his thumb soothing with gentle strokes. "I think we've both apologized enough, don't you?"

"You know," he adds when she doesn't respond. "One of the things Alex taught me is that one should only look back to check that you're moving forward in the right direction. So, let's not rehash the past right now. We have lots to discuss, and I'm sure you have plenty of questions, but we agreed you need time to think, so let's call it a night. I'll be back on Monday if you want to talk. If you aren't ready or don't want to meet again, I'll understand. Okay?"

"Okay." Bella smiles weakly and fumbles for her handbag. "I should go. I just…" She drags her eyes from his and then, realizing that she probably looks a mess, glances around for a restroom.

"Through there." Edward, reading her mind, points to a nearby door. "I'll let Ben know we're leaving," he informs her and then, with a last, fleeting swipe of his thumb across her knuckles, leaves the table.

. . . . .

Back at home, an hour has passed, and Bella's still an emotional mess. She's hurt, confused, and angry, at herself she's convinced, but if she were honest, she'd admit that she's also mad at Edward. Her overriding feeling, though, is remorse—for her past decisions and for not asking or saying more before leaving Edward. She castigates herself for not voicing her shock and hurt and for not telling him that the thought of him with so many women, any woman, tears at her soul. She regrets not telling him that she hates his actions, and though it's hard to accept, she understands. She wishes she'd explained that _her_ guilt and _her_ shame had choked her up; that she wants to say so much but doesn't know _what_ to say. She wishes that, at the very least, she'd assured him that she also wants to work things out and that she wants to meet again. The memory of Edward's stoic expression, the hurt in his eye, and the finality in his parting words, "Take care, Bella," as he'd helped her into a waiting car, haunts her. A tear escapes as she touches her cheek where the ghost of Edward's lips still lingers. Another and then another falls as she picks up her phone and dials, and by the time Bella greets her mother, she's crying freely.

"I'm coming over," Renee cuts off her garbled apology and explanation for the late call. "I don't care, Bella," she says when Bella protests the time, and, true to her word, less than an hour later she's bustling around Bella's kitchen. "Drink your tea," she instructs, when they've settled in the living room. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything."

Bella had never been more grateful for her mother's tendency to push. In, truth, she'd only half-heartedly objected to Renee making the forty-minute journey because, deep down, she'd needed her physical comfort.

Renee, predictably, is dismayed when hearing about Edward's substance abuse. She clutches her throat when Bella relates his collapse and admission to hospital. "Thank goodness!" she exclaims about his stint in rehab. Strangely, for Bella, her mother, though shocked and expressing sadness, isn't as concerned about the women even before finding out about Alex's assessment. Hearing that nearly brings Renee to tears. When Bella describes her guilt for not understanding the depth of Edward's feelings, she adamantly defends her.

"Rubbish, Bella. You were a child; you both were. His therapist is trained to uncover those things." She's just as uncompromising in her damnation of Carlisle. "That man has a lot to answer for. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," she mutters.

"Mom, Edward probably doesn't want his father to know," Bella points out.

"Fine!" Renee huffs, "but he won't be welcome in my house again."

"What did you tell Edward?" she asks, and Bella confesses that she didn't say much, and when bursting into tears again, she states the things she'd wanted but couldn't say, Renee sets her mug aside and, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's wet cheek, embraces her.

"Shh, sweetheart. Edward will understand. Tell me why you couldn't say those things." Bella explains her guilt and shame for not listening; for not trusting him in the first place.

"If I had, he wouldn't have landed in hospital nearly dying, and he wouldn't have…." she falters.

"Wouldn't have what?" Renee prods.

"Slept with those women."

"Is that what's really bothering you?"

"No! Maybe…. I don't know," Bella finally admits, and when her mother urges her to continue, says that she's not sure she can get past it.

"Edward didn't cheat on you, sweetie. You weren't together. The only person he wronged was himself. Would you be less mad if it had been just one woman? Two? What about three or four? How many would be acceptable? You had relationships in that time too, remember."

"I'm mad at myself, Mom, and I know Edward didn't cheat. I've told myself that over and over, but still…" Bella stops, eyes widening in realization. "I am mad at him," she admits.

"Then tell him," Renee suggests.

"I can't," Bella says, her voice small and vulnerable.

"Why?"

"It'll hurt him, and he'll probably get mad."

"He's already hurting, Bella. And don't you think he worried about hurting you and about you getting mad? Edward was honest with you. He put himself on the line. Don't you think he deserves the same?"

"You're right," Bella guiltily concedes.

"I'm not saying it will be easy to move past the women, or even that you should, sweetheart." Renee wipes a wayward tear from Bella's face. "But I don't think that's what you should concentrate on right now. You need to decide if you want to get back with Edward and if you still love him. If the answer is no, then it's pointless worrying about anything else. If it's yes; then you and Edward have to work together to get over the past.

"One last piece of advice before I go," she adds when Bella doesn't respond. "Edward's probably torturing himself too. Make this right. _Tonight_ , Bella."

"Stay, Mom. It's too late to drive," Bella protests when her mother prepares to leave.

"Dad's waiting downstairs." Renee smiles at Bella's shock. "He knew you were upset the minute I told him I was leaving. You didn't expect him to sit at home, did you? He'd stay out there all night if necessary, but he's probably tearing his hair out by now, so I should let him know you're okay. You are, aren't you?"

"I will be, Mom." Bella stands and hugs Renee, murmuring her gratitude and love. "Thank Dad also, and tell him I love him."

"I will, sweetie. Do what you need to, then get some sleep."

Bella blinks away tears as her mother, in a gesture so reminiscent of her childhood, kisses her forehead and wishes her sweet dreams. She listens to the deadlock slipping and the quiet thud of her door shutting before she sinks onto the sofa and follows Renee's advice. She tries to forget about Dallas and both her and Edward's subsequent mistakes. She concentrates on their relationship before that awful night. She remembers how wary Edward had been when they first met, how, gradually, he'd let her in, and how he'd eventually trusted her with his innermost feelings and precious memories of Elizabeth and Lou—memories he'd guarded closely, especially from his father's disdain. In return, she'd shared her secrets and dreams, which, compared to Edward's revelations, had been childish at best, a reflection of her sheltered life. Still, their friendship had been built on mutual trust, and their belief in each other had underpinned their blossoming love. The fact that she'd shattered that faith when Edward had needed it most threatens to drag Bella down again but she dismisses that thought. She clears her mind of everything except those two vital questions and, just as Renee had predicted, without her muddled thinking, the answers become clear. She wants to be with Edward, and, yes, Bella concedes, she still loves him—she'd loved him since first setting eyes on him in the Cullen garden and experiencing that uncanny pull that even now, eighteen years later and despite the emotional turmoil, she still feels when he's near.

'How did I ever think I was over him?' she wonders when remembering how, in the last seven years, when surrounded by friends, or out on a date, even during intimate moments with Bran, she'd experienced a sense of loss. Not even her parents, who she loves dearly, could dispel the feeling. ' _Can_ I get over him?' she asks, and the answer to that question, just as emphatic, cements Bella's decision.

Across town, Edward, like Bella, has run the gamut of emotions. The relief he'd anticipated from getting everything off his chest had disappeared with Bella's first tear, and by the time he'd left her, he'd felt sick to the gut. He'd spent the next hour second-guessing the decision to reveal his womanizing and berated himself for disgusting Bella so much that she'd barely looked at him. He'd itched to make things right; picked up his phone so many times only to change his mind so often that he'd wanted to hurl the damned thing against the wall. He'd wanted to call Dan but it had been too late even for his obliging therapist, and he'd nearly woken Alice but decided against that too. Even music had failed to distract him, so he'd abandoned his guitar. Television had been an even greater lost cause, so he'd showered and decided to go to bed. He'd tossed and turned for ages when his phone beeps with an incoming message.

He ignores it, thinking it's Eva with yet another addition to his New York schedule. Curiosity, however, gets the better of him, and a few seconds later, he bolts upright, his heart lurching when reading Bella's message. He reads it again, slowly this time, to make sure he hasn't misunderstood. 'To hell with it,' he dismisses the voice in his head that tells him it's too late. He dials, his heart in his throat as he listens to his phone ring.

"Do you mean it?" he asks, his voice rasping with emotion.

"Yes," Bella answers, equally affected.

"Come to New York, Bella. I can't get away until Sunday, and I don't want to wait that long."

A second passes, and then another before her whispered, "okay," travels down the line.

"Thank fuck!" Edward sags against his pillows.

 **Thank you for reading.**

 **I apologize for the very long delay. No excuses except to assure you that if at all possible, I would have gotten this chapter out much, much sooner.**

 **To those readers who reached out expressing concern for my wellbeing— Thank you—for your kindness and patience. Thanks also to any new readers, and as always, a special thanks to those who continue to support my efforts.**

 **I rarely address rude 'guest' comments; not because their often abusive content bothers me overly. I ignore and delete them because I loathe bullies and refuse to give them a platform to air their vitriol. Due to the particular nature of some of the guest comments I've recently received, I do, however, feel compelled address those who appear to have no concept or appreciation of the gracious behavior attributed to or expected from a guest. To you, I say, you are rude and cowardly to hide behind the guest option in this forum that is meant to be engender mutual respect and support. I remind you that writers on this site have a life, and sometimes that life takes precedence. I will also point out that children who are bullied by like-minded cowards are suffering; some have taken their own lives. I remind you that each one of us has a choice to either be part of the problem or choose to be part of the solution to put an end to cyber and any other form of bullying. 'Nuff said, I think.**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Take care everyone,**

 **Shenda x**


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